


All Night

by drarrystan22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And An Amazing Support System, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Bad omens, Case Fic, Confused Draco Malfoy, Crime Scenes, Curse Breaker Pansy Parkinson, Death, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description of Corpses, Harry Potter Being an Idiot, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has a Saving People Thing, Harry Potter has Anxiety, Healer Blaise Zabini, Healer Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, Protective Blaise Zabini, Protective Ginny Weasley, Psychological Torture, Ron Weasley is the sweetest, That He Doesen't Use, Torture, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29909394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarrystan22/pseuds/drarrystan22
Summary: Harry started to dream.Slumbers of sweet lips over his skin, the faintest of touches, wet sloppy kisses.He didn’t realize it was Draco at first.Until he saw the eyes .But it was ok. It didn’t matter that the dreams seemed real enough to be memories, it didn’t matter that he woke up from each one of them with a hollow feeling in his chest, it didn’t matter at all. He could ignore dreams. It wasn’t real, and quite honestly, dreams of careful touches and desire were far better than the usual dark lord, murdering spree, blood and screams he usually got.Until they morphed into one.Draco would die every night behind Harry’s closed eyes. He would be gone in a green flash of light. He would bleed his life out on the bathroom floor. He would fall from the astronomy tower. He would scream all night long, and Harry could never reach. It was total and absolute torture. Way harder to ignore.But it was fine . He managed .He hadn’t seen Draco Malfoy in a long time. He didn’t look for him. He didn’t hope to find.Until a year later, when Draco found him first.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up naked in Draco's bed and runs away. And then he starts to dream.

Harry woke up to the slightest of shifts under his torso. He was lazily spread out on top of something. Someone.

He was not completely awake yet. His limbs were numb, and his cheeks rested on top of a soft head of hair, he was comfortable, cozy.

“ _ This _ ” thought Harry, sinking his face further in the lemon scented locks. “ _This is happiness”_

And then he opened his eyes. And the world came tumbling down.

All he could see was white. Long white blond hair, white porcelain skin, white sheets over his body, white sharp features on a very very familiar face that he had never ever seen so close to his own. Nostalgia sliced through him like lightning. 

He was laying on top of a sleeping Draco Malfoy. Bare chest to his back, face to his hair, hands holding his fingers. Naked.

_ What the fuck. _

__

A million questions crossed his mind in half a second, but the one he decided to find an answer for was  _ “How do I get out?”.  _

Lifting his head, a little more roughly than he intended, Harry looked around, searching for a door, trying to find out where he was, or what the fuck happened, or maybe just his clothes. Anything. But the sudden movement made Draco start to wake up, so Harry did the only thing he could think of: pretend he was still asleep.

His mouth touching again the smooth blond hair, his hand still curled around Malfoy’s long delicate fingers.

“ _ Why does this feel so right?” _

Another question Harry didn’t have an answer for.

It took Draco a moment. He opened his eyes and moved the arm buried under Harry a little. Sighing, he let go of Harry’s hand. 

Something on his chest ached. Deep between his lungs an unsettling pain grew out of nowhere. An unexplainable anxiety. A small and unjustified fear of not being held like that by Malfoy ever again.

Draco placed a hand on Harry’s neck, the other one on his waist, slowly, he stroked the side of Harry’s head with his thumb before moving him to stand up. 

In one precise movement, Harry was laying on his back. He could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him. Those grey blue eyes staring at him for a long second. His two cold hands holding him still. Another sigh and Draco was covering Harry’s limp body with the light sheets again.

Long pale fingers moved slowly over Harry’s cheeks, like they did on Hogwarts walls while walking down a hallway. As if he was not so sure if he wanted to leave.

Another doubt.

“ _ Should I stop him? I don’t … _ ”

His trail of thought was interrupted by the sound of a door being closed shut.

A few seconds passed by and he did not dare to make a single movement.

“ _ Well, fuck _ ”

Slowly, Harry fluttered his eyelids open, and what stared back at him was at most unexpected. The room was white. Completely white. From top to bottom, every single thing inside the space was white. Everything seemed expensive, classy, carefully selected. The light blinded him for a second, but it was obvious he was far far away from 12 Grimmauld Place. His clothes were crumpled on the fluffy carpet, and at least he had that. He slid his clothes quickly over his body as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening without any success.

His eyes glanced around the room once more, trying desperately to find any piece of information to hang onto, and soon enough, his gaze met a single frame on top of the nightstand. It was a picture of Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Picture Draco had his arms around Pansy’s shoulder, his body being held by Blaise, and the three of them laughed joyfully. 

Like a snap, something ruptured inside him. This was Draco Malfoy’s Place. He woke up on top of sodding Draco Malfoy. This was most definitely not ok. So, he held on tightly, clutching his wand in between his fingers. And apparated.

Time escaped through his fingers like sand, and soon enough, the morning of hazy confusion was nothing but a distant memory, and yet, every time Harry caught himself dozing off in thought, his mind found its way back to Draco Malfoy´s bed. It was honestly mesmerizing, how his daydreams always seemed to end up in Draco´s embrace, in between his delicate fingers, intertwined in his blond hair, draped across his white sheets. It was infuriating how impossibly hard it was to escape that morning, even though he hadn’t seen Malfoy since.

And then the funniest thing happened. Harry started to dream.

Slumbers of sweet lips over his skin, the faintest of touches, wet sloppy kisses.

He didn’t  _ realize _ it was Draco at first.

Until he saw the  _ eyes _ .

But it was ok. It didn’t matter that the dreams seemed real enough to be memories, it didn’t matter that he woke up from each one of them with a hollow feeling in his chest, it didn’t matter at all. He could ignore dreams. It wasn’t real, and quite honestly, dreams of careful touches and desire were far better than the usual dark lord, murdering spree, blood and screams he usually got.

Until they morphed into one.

Draco would die every night behind Harry’s closed eyes. He would be gone in a green flash of light. He would bleed his life out on the bathroom floor. He would fall from the astronomy tower. He would scream all night long, and Harry could never reach. It was total and absolute torture. Way harder to ignore.

But it was  _ fine _ . He  _ managed _ .

He hadn’t seen Draco Malfoy in a long time. He didn’t look for him. He didn’t hope to find.

Until a year later, when Draco found him first.

The funny thing is: Harry was indeed expecting someone.

His house was already filled with Hermione, Ron and Luna's laughter. The only missing piece was Ginny, who got caught up in practice and was running late, so when the doorbell rang he didn’t even bother to look at who he was opening the door to. 

Harry only realised there was something wrong when the laughter was cut short upon their entrance.

He glanced back just to find Draco’s eyes. They were red and full of worry. Somehow that made them seem even more silvery. More intense. Less dull. Less provoking. Harry hated it. Those eyes were the ones that looked at him when he sided with Voldemort, the ones that deep down were asking, begging for help. The ones that cried when Harry died. Harry liked the stormy ones, the ones that mocked him for years and smiled at him when he thought no one was looking.

-You keep dying in my dreams.

Draco’s voice was deep and almost inaudible.

-What?

Ron's voice was way too high. He was most definitely tipsy.

Only one thought ran through Harry’s mind while he took Draco’s arm and led him up the staircase into his bedroom.

“ _ Merlin, i don’t want him to look at me like that ever again _ ” 

He walked through the open door pushing Malfoy in first so he could close it behind him, which was a bad decision, since it led to Harry being pinched against the heavy oak door with a tall and very concerned Draco Malfoy towering over him.

-You keep dying in my dreams.

Same tone. Same deep voice. But now Draco was closer. Close enough that Harry could smell his mint-clover scented breath against his skin. Close enough that he could see gray eyes staring at his lips.

-You die in mine too. But everyone dies in my dreams. It’s probably nothing.

-And you’re ok with it?

Draco took a step, getting even closer. Somehow his tone seemed filled with offence.

-I got used to it.

Harry noticed the slight shift in his voice through the sentence. He went in there expecting the passive aggressive dynamic they were used to, but Draco's eyes were darker, deeper, telling a completely different tale. 

-I did too. But this feels different… with you.

Draco took a step back and cleared his throat

-I mean, i have nightmares all the time. We all have them…

-Exactly.

Harry shifted his weight to his right leg and looked away.

-I am glad you came here to check on me, I really am. And what you are going through is very hard to deal with, especially if you’re alone.

He crossed his arms and took a couple of seconds to formulate his next few words.

-Maybe you should stay. Luna is a great listener and I could give you my therapist´s numb…

His offer got cut short by Draco’s protest.

-No, it’s ok. My apologies for bothering, Potter. Just wanted to check.

Draco sighed, using his cold fingers to maneuver Harry´s body out of his way, just like he did  _ that _ morning.

He left without saying another word.

-Is everything ok? 

Hermione asked as soon as he stepped into the room. She was using her mom voice, and that was not a good sign.

-Yeah, ok. He just… I don't even know, Mione. It’s fine, don't worry.

He dismissed her questioning look with a quick wave of the hand, and they presumed the game night. Still no sign of Ginny.

That night, Draco died by fiendyfire, burning away into nothingness. 

In the following morning, Harry woke up to Ginny's owl at his window and a sore throat.

_ “Dear Harry, _

_ Sorry I couldn't make yesterday’s game night, practice ran late, and i was stuck up until 2AM. I already promised Ron and Mione to host next week, so don't worry about that. _

_ I would also love to have my wife back as soon as possible. _

_ Lots of love, _

_ Ginny”  _

He couldn’t help but giggle at the note, and the efusive plea to have Luna back took him out of bed. 

Luna was comfortably installed at the living room’s chaise, the yellow one, that Harry bought for her, a tea mug clutched in her hands.

-Mornin' Harry, I was wondering how long it was going to take you to be out and about. 

Her blond hair was braided with different colored glass beads, pulled up into a quirky updo.

-Thanks for letting me stay, I don’t like sleeping alone in the flat, too many nargles when Ginny’s not home.

Her voice sounded like something out of a dream, and he loved her so deeply he had to hold back the impulse to pull her into a tight hug.

-No problem, Loons. She owled me, looking for you.

Luna’s face lit up at the mention of Ginny, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight.

-Oh, I should probably get going then.

She didn't seem so keen to act on her words, so Harry took a seat by her side.

-Luna, i've been having some weird nightmares. There’s no way they could be real, like prophetic or anything, is there?

She paused for a second, mug to her lips, and analyzed his face very carefully. Her fingers guided the mug into Harry’s hands, and he gladly accepted, taking a sip. Chamomile tea, of course, her favorite.

-Well, it depends, Harry. Dreams are responses to real life situations, nothing really keeps them from becoming reality. Dreams might as well be omens, good or bad, especially  _ your _ dreams.

She brushed her fingers through the loose strands of hair that fell from her complicated braid and stretched her legs, throwing them over the chaise's arm.

-You´ve been through a lot, you’ve lost too much. That kind of loss marks us, makes us more sensible, easier to access from the other side. 

Harry’s heart raced to a million beats per second, adrenaline running through his veins as acid.

-That’s not very good, Loons. That's actually bad. Very bad.

Luna scrunched her nose, shifting her body to get up. She dropped a little kiss on his forehead and left, but not before whispering

-It might as well be nothing, Harry. Don't lose your mind over it.

And yet, he did.

Sleeping had been hard ever since Cedric’s death, even before that, and as the years went by it only got harder. But the nightmares with Draco were different, more real, complicated. Bad omens, he came to the conclusion after talking to Luna about it.

The possibility that any of that could ever happen sent shivers down his spine. Draco’s desperate screams haunted Harry’s every moment. It was too much. Too much pain, too much suffering.

He didn’t deserve it.

Draco might have been an insufferable git during his early life. Hell, he might even have joined the Death Eaters, but Harry wasn’t fooled for a second. Harry had seen true evil.

True, careless, tortuous evil, and Draco was not that. Draco Malfoy was not evil.

Not a guy with such a soft yet passionate touch, not someone that would caress you before moving you in bed, not a person that would come into your house just to see if you’re ok. “ _ Fuck, he doesn’t deserve any of this. Not even if it is just dreams. _ ”

Harry stood up in a jump when he had the next thought 

“ _ He didn’t deserve the way I talked to him either”  _ .

Moved by the will of fixing things with Draco, Harry rushed out of the house. Luna was still in his front door leaving to see her loving ginger wife when he ran through the three step stairs and apparated.

\- That was fast.

Said Luna, in a hazy tone, distracted by an oddly shaped butterfly.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes looking for Draco. Draco goes missing and Harry jumps off Tower Bridge

Draco moved away from Malfoy Manor after his mom died. He didn’t have a reason to stay there without her. A couple years later his dad was killed and he sold it. Harry didn’t know why, but after seeing Draco’s new place he wasn’t able to imagine the blonde git living in that huge, dark, cursed, racist looking Manor. But even though they looked nothing alike, both houses were fancy in a weirdly similar way. The new one was a flat. A rich person's flat. Harry was still outside from the building and he could already tell.

-He must own an entire floor.

-I do.

Draco’s voice startled him, breaking his loud thinking. Harry cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the itchy feeling.

-To what do I owe you the pleasure, Potter?

Draco didn’t even resemble himself from the previous night. His dark circles vanished, along with the red rimming around his eyes. His hair was carelessly tied back into a low pony, a few wicks loose, framing his face. His hands held groceries, and Harry noticed he had never seen Malfoy doing such a mundane thing as carrying groceries. It stunned Harry for a second, and before Harry could even think of an answer, Draco was already inside the building.

Without really thinking about it, Harry followed and only stopped in front of the elevator, when Draco stepped inside the cubicle and finally turned to face him. His expression defiant, eyebrows raised. The moment seemed to last forever, and was only broken when the metal doors started closing in. Draco held the elevator.

-Are you coming or not ?

It was only then that Harry realized he had no idea on what he was planning to say.

-You can sure be rude sometimes, Malfoy.

His voice was heavy with sarcasm, and a presumptuous grin took over his lips. 

-I have plenty of reasons to be rude to you.

-I’m sure you have, your small dick must be one of them.

Harry looked at Draco as discreetly as he could to see his reaction.

“ _ That was a low blow” _ . 

Turns out it wasn’t. Malfoy was hiding a smile underneath his hair.

-You’re lucky we are alone, Potter.

-Why? Are you going to kiss me, Malfoy?

Harry laughed but Daco didn’t. Their gazes met, and the silvery eyes were as cloudy as ever, shooting a significant look at Harry’s own green ones.

-I could.

The whole atmosphere inside the lift changed in a blink. Time stopped, and just for a second, Harry really thought (hoped) he would indeed kiss him. And then, the doors were open again, and Draco walked out.

He wasn't lying when he said he owned the floor. The elevator led to his living room, and it was _all_ white. Everything. The walls, the floor, the marble of the table, the kitchen cabinets and the owner. 

Harry’s house was completely different. Every room had a different color painted on the walls and the furniture was supposed to match the people that used it, not the rest of the place. The red couch belonged to Ron, along with Harry, Mione used a leather armchair, Luna had the yellow chaise and Ginny was always sitting on top of the coffee table, even though he had bought her a wine red fluffy ottoman.

-Are you colorblind?

-What?

Malfoy stood by the kitchen counter, taking his sparse groceries out of the brown paper bag, carefully washing the three apples before putting them away.

-Everything is white, is it like... a safe choice? Because you can’t tell if the colors you pick look good together?

-What are you on about? Do you usually come into peoples places to criticize their decor? My home is classy, and I honestly don’t get how you live in that color crashing mess that is your place. What were you trying to do? Make your house into a human sized funcional pride flag?

-Well, I am indeed a part of the alphabet mafia. 

It wasn't meant to be a joke, it was one of Ginny’s stupid quotes, her manners rubbing off on him. Up until that moment he didn't really mind.

Malfoy stopped for a second and looked at Harry. His face was completely serious.

-The what?

Harry shrugged, afraid for a second that he may have hurt Draco’s feelings, offended him somehow.

And then Draco’s laughter filled the wide room. His head thrown back, his hands resting on the sink, supporting his weight. It was mesmerizing. Harry was left completely dumbstruck by the joy in his face. It made him wonder why he spent so many years plotting against the blonde, when he should have spent them trying to make him laugh.

-Ok. Enough with the jokes. What do you want from me, Potter?

His voice still carried the residue of laughter, and he crossed the room, guiding Harry into a cozy sitting area. The good humor of the conversation stayed behind in the kitchen, and the serious atmosphere downed upon them once again.

-Fiendfyre. Last night you died by fiendyfire.

Draco’s eyes gained a cold quality Harry couldn't explain, his mouth turned into a thin straight line.

-Suicide. Rope around the neck. I was too late.

As soon as the unasked question was answered, Harry’s heart fluttered uncomfortably in between his ribs. He lifted his eyes to stare straight into Draco’s, hoping to find an explanation in them. 

-Do they seem…. i don’t know, real? To you? 

His voice scratched his throat, making it hurt a little more.

-Yes, they do. Real enough for me to go looking for you. 

Harry blinked rapidly and for a split second he could have sworn the worried worn out look was carved back into the sharp marble features. 

-Sorry about that. 

The awkwardness of the moment made him bristle, but Draco seemed almost amused by his apology. 

-That’s fine, Potter, don’t worry about it. When did I start dying in your sleep?

Ok. Harry was avoiding that one. 

He knew full well that his dreams started acting up ever since  _ that _ morning, and acknowledging it meant admitting he was a huge fucking coward. 

It was inevitable, of course. Unescapable.

-Shortly after we…

He closed his eyes, feeling Draco’s heavy gaze on his face, and flushed furiously.

-We… slept? Together? 

-We didn’t. Not like that. 

Harry’s confusion lasted more than a few seconds, giving Draco enough time to take off his cloak and cross his legs, placing his left hand in his left knee. If someone painted him sitting like that Harry would have easily mistaken him for a renaissance creation. 

-We didn’t?

-Do you want some tea? You look like you could do with some tea.

Draco stood up to return to the kitchen but Harry held him back. He didn’t know exactly what to ask but he needed answers. 

-You were drunk… 

Started Draco, his voice low and hoarse. Harry stayed quiet, eyes glued to the white floor and fingers still locked around the other man’s wrist. As soon as he was able to let go, Draco sat down again and scratched his head, clearly struggling to continue.

-We were drinking at the Leaky, Pansy and I. We always do that, I don't keep alcohol in the Penthouse, not after… Anyway, I assumed you had been drinking for a while, since you were blackout drunk when I arrived.

Draco’s narration came to a halt, as if he was giving Harry time to recollect his own memories.

-The Harpies were playing, Ginny caught the snitch, we were celebrating. Everyone went home and I decided to stay for a little longer.

His head hurt with the effort to remember that night after he put so much effort into forgetting it. 

-Yes.

Harry’s eyes met Draco’s. He was afraid to ask, but did it anyway. 

-And then?

-And then I went to the bathroom and you were in there, washing your hands. You didn’t look so well, so I… tried to help. Asked if you were alright. And you grabbed me by the collar and kissed me.

A blurry flash of memory crossed Harry's mind. Not resisting the will to kiss Draco. He looked angelic, dressed in all black, hair messy, face stained with concern. He remembered throwing his body against a wall, pressing his mouth into the alluring pale skin on the nape of his neck and whispering “ _ I wanted to do this for so long” _ into his ear. 

Harry immediately felt his face burn, blushing into an even deeper shade of camine. 

-We did... that for a while. I wasn’t able to hold myself back, so I invited you to come over, and you did. Once we got here you ripped off all my clothes. You weren’t in your right mind, weren’t even looking me in the eyes. So I stopped. Thought you might regret everything in the morning.

Draco cleared his throat. His eyes were on edge, and Harry could tell he was fighting a battle inside his own head, between saying something or not, and he saw, clear as day, when he decided against it. Draco cleared his face from all expression, maskarating any emotion, turning his face back into sculpted marble, completely neutral. 

-And I… I wanted you to remember. If we were to... I would like you to remember.

Harry had another glimpse of that night. His memories were like tangled warn, running over one another, mixing and shifting inside his mind. He remembered Draco holding his face between his hands, the flash of silvery ice tainted with desire, his lips clearly disagreeing with the lust in his gaze as he whispered  _ “I think we should stop” _ . Harry didn't really want to stop, but at the time he didn't have the willpower to go against anything Draco said, so he entangled himself against his body, holding him in a tight embrace, and promptly fell asleep.

-We do have a thing with bathrooms, don’t we? 

The little joke scaped Harry’s lips before his brain even processed what exactly he was saying, and Draco’s expression didn’t even twitch. His mouth frozen into a thin line, his eyebrows furrowed.

-Funny.

Draco let out in one short breath, but didn't smile.

Harry left the flat with more questions than answers. The conversation didn’t exactly clear anything up, they didn't come up with any conclusion at all, and by the time Harry realized it was probably too late to be disturbing his former nemesis, Draco had already served dinner. He arrived at Grimmauld Place with a full stomach and an empty mind.

When Harry rested his head against the pillow that night he had no idea how much he would regret falling asleep.

It felt so real. He felt so conscious. But he knew full well it was nothing but a hazy reverie, because Harry remembered drifting into sleep in the safety of his bedroom, but now he found himself standing in the middle of  Kings Cross Station .  He stood next to the wattled network architecture, it was enormous, growing from the center of the main hall and spreading itself through the ceiling, just like he remembered it. Harry knew that place like the back of his hand. His feet moved by themselves, dragging him to a familiar path. The place was empty, no one was there but him. Suddenly, he was surrounded by platform 9 ¾ . It felt like coming home.

Harry stood on the edge of the platform, looking at the clock that times the arrival of the next train. One minute in british punctuality was all he had to wait to get in the train that would take him to Hogwarts. That moment, something jumped out in his peripheral vision, distracting him from that thought. A moving figure, blurry, unfocused, a little too close to the train tracks. Harry approached quickly, wanting desperately to hold the person back, overwhelmed with the desire to keep them safe. He never seemed to get close enough. The blur jumped straight into the train gap, playing with their equilibrium, swinging their arms around. Harry tried calling out to them, trying to get their attention, but no sound came out of his lips. Gravity weighed him down, eyes following the dancing body.

The figure turned around, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat. The familiar face stared at him in full blown panic, his eyes sunken into his skull, gray, sad, dull and surrounded by awfully deep dark circles, as if he had gone an entire week without sleep. Draco looked fragile, breakable, delicate. Harry tried again and again to get closer, to take him by the hand, to nestle him inside his arms where he could keep him safe. It didn’t work. He couldn't move. Harry looked down into his own body and felt his muscles tensing up with the useless attempt to take a step, trying desperately to reach Draco, sweating from the pointless effort.

Harry lifted his eyes, lungs filled with air he could neither turn into words nor screams. In despair, he met Draco’s gaze, hoping he would read his mind and come running to his arms. But he didn’t. Draco didn’t run. He didn't even flinch. His movements came to a halt in the middle of the train tracks, looking deeply into Harry’s eyes, his mouth fell open, a single tear rolling down his face, Harry’s name trapped in his lips.

And then the train wiped him away. Just like that. In the blink of an eye. Harry stood there watching the wagons passing by, the anguish growing inside of him, crushing his organs and leaving no space for anything but a growing painful feeling. When the train finally disappeared in the mist, it left behind nothing but dark, thick, red blood.

Harry woke up gasping for air. His lungs refused to work properly. It felt like taking a dive into Hogwarts’ great lake with sirens. Felt like fighting for your best friend’s life.

_ “Fucking hit by a train” _

His heart was still racing uncontrollably, alert with the flush of adrenaline. The dreams seemed to be turning more and more realistic with every night, up to the point that Harry couldn't bring himself not to believe that Draco Malfoy was dangerously balancing his life in between train tracks. He wouldn’t be too late this time.

Just like in the nightmare, King’s Cross was empty. The place felt like a graveyard, dark, twisted and solid. Draco was not there either. Harry couldn't tell if that was a good thing.

Checking into work the next day felt more like a dream than his actual nightmare. The department had been having a whole bunch of trouble investigating a particularly hard to crack case: a wizard couple had been reported missing that morning, leaving no trace behind whatsoever. An anonymous tip showed up a few hours after the report, linking ex-death eater activity to the disappearance. Harry had been terrorized by the possibility. Three years ago, he would have laughed out loud at it, but ever since assuming his position as Head Auror, he came to the chilling realization that if he were to arrest every prejudiced wizard, the ministry would be dissolved. These days, misconcep of minorities were basically a prerequisite to become a politician. Not only muggleborns and half-bloods suffered in the hands of the state and wizards supremacists but also the cursed, poor, disabled and mentaly ill. The very real possibility that one of his coworkers could be involved was enough to put him in a restless unease.

Just when Harry thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Astoria Greengrass barged into the Auror quarters floor, shouting at the top of lungs, pushing aside with her tiny hands anyone who tried to stop her. 

-...You don't understand, he wouldn’t do that to me, I can't find him anywhere! Potter is the only one who can help!

Astoria’s exasperated face popped into view. She was beautiful yet threatening. Small delicate features sculpted into a pout, absolutely furious. As soon as their gazes met, he saw pure fear printed in her soft blue eyes, and that was enough to make him fear too.

-Mrs. Greengrass, please come in. What happened?

Harry guided her trembling body to one of the seats in the small room assigned as his personal office, closing the door behind him with a soft noise. He turned to face the wood, silently casting a few privacy spells. 

-Would you like a sip of water?

-Draco is missing. 

Harry’s heart stuttered inside his chest, his hands nearly dropped the tall glass of water he was pushing towards her.

-I went to St. Mungos today, looking for him. He wasn’t there. He never misses work. 

She accepted the glass and took a short sip.

-So I came by the Penthouse. He wasn’t there either, but I found this.

She handed Harry a crumpled piece of parchment, it seemed to have been ripped from somewhere, maybe a diary. It’s edges were stained with something that looked an awful lot like blood.

Harry took it, fingers shaking slightly, and promptly stood up, leaving Astoria behind without saying another word.

_Drowned in Thames River. Jumped off Tower Bridge. _

London was freezing. Harry covered himself with two coats and a couple of well cast heating charms, but his teeth were still chattering. Thames River glazed under the bridge, wind cutting through the surface, spreading little particles of water in the air. His eyes searched the place, his heart still racing behind his ribs, his lungs battling for air. He was on the verge of a panic attack when he saw it. 

An emerald green overcoat, standing out in the sea of black and white. 

Harry hushed to meet it, wand in hand, ready to do anything if it meant saving Draco’s life. 

He didn't need to. Draco was absentmindedly seating on the edge of the bridge’s banisters, legs hanging over the air. He didn't seem ready to jump.

Harry approached cautiously, not wanting to alarm him.

-Hit by the Hogwarts Express.

Draco turned to face him, shock registered on his face.

-I got your note.

Harry closed the gap between them, taking a seat by his side.

-This one was different. Really different.

Draco’s voice sounded like an echo. He seemed distant, as if he didn't believe Harry was there.

-I thought you might’ve… I had to check.

Harry bumped his shoulder into Draco’s, capturing his attention once again.

-I didn't. I’m ok. You scared the shite out of me.

He took the note out of his pocket, handing it to Draco and pointing at the blood.

The blonde one raised his eyebrows, taking the piece of parchment.

-Woke up with a bleeding nose, I’m ok, Potter. 

He put it inside his own pocket and turned back to watch the river run.

-So, I died smashed by The Hogwarts Express. That must've been fun to watch.

Harry chuckled, his breath turning into fog. He took a couple of seconds to really look at Draco’s face for the first time since  _ the morning.  _ He relished in the acute features, and was struck by how stunning he actually was. 

Draco’s beauty had never escaped his attention, not even when they were fourteen and fighting over everything, but the years apart had faded away the depths of his angelic looks from Harry’s mind, and being faced with it again startled him slightly. Had he always looked  _ this _ good? Harry wondered what it must've been like to grow up that beautiful. He allowed his gaze to rest over Draco’s lips for a little longer than appropriate.

-Not particularly, no. I went looking for you on Kings Cross. You weren’t there.

Draco turned abruptly, meeting his stare with startled wide eyes

-You… you went looking for me? Why?

-Had to check

Harry smiled, mirroring his words from earlier.

When he got back to the Ministry, the smile still lingered on his lips.

In the next couple of days, Harry didn't see Draco again. The nightmares seemed to worsen at first, but after two or three nights, they went back to being hazy and faded, and although they still seemed real, they were way less scary. Work was more stressful than ever, since the couple missing case was far away from being solved, and to be quite honest, he just needed a win. Just one. 

That morning, Ron was already waiting for him inside his office when he arrived. These days Weasley was Harry’s right-hand man, even though his official title was Head of Investigation. He was leaning against the edge of Harry’s desk, looking through the familiar green folder, flipping the pages with focused determination. Without even looking up, the ginger greeted Harry with an exasperated

-We found the couple. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Harry go to the crime scene, Draco is rude and Pansy does drugs.

It was one of the worst crime scenes Harry had ever been in. 

The couple shared a small flat, and it seemed the kind of place where you would feel very cozy inside. The walls were a light shade of blue, and the place was filled to the brim with books. It resembled Ron and Hermione’s home a bit, and Harry could tell Ron was thinking the exact same thing by the look on his face when he saw all the blood. 

There was a lot of it. 

All over the master bedroom, in the walls, on the floor, spread out on the bed sheets, spattered on the curtain, but the blood was definitely not the worst part. One of the victims was chopped into pieces. Her limbs ripped away from her torso. Harry had to force himself to look at it, trying hard not to throw his breakfast up. Dean Thomas was waiting for them inside the scene, camera on hand, wearing that gleaming expression he had on every time there was a really brutal murder. He was the brightest forensic expert in the whole department, but it was nearly disturbing how much he genuinely enjoyed grotesque explicit murder scenes.

-Brace yourselves boys, this one is a wild ride

His voice assaulted Harry’s ears with the misplaced excitement, but he still followed Dean around while he walked them through the room.

-The woman had her limbs ripped by force. You see, at first i thought they had been cut off, it’s the most logical thing, right? But that didn't explain all the blood, and then I saw this.

Harry and Ron both took a step in the dead body’s direction along with Dean. He pointed out a few bruises around the woman’s ankles, similar ones on both of her wrists. 

-She was probably tied up, these are rope marks, and by the looks of it, she was pulled apart, because...

Dean put his finger way too close between the arm and the torso, nearly touching the jaggared skin where the two were ripped.

-See the dents? A blade would leave behind a clean cut.

Ron made a weird noise with his throat, clearly struggling to keep his own meal in. Harry patted his shoulder in solidarity.

-What about the other body?

Harry’s voice came out shaky, but Dean didn’t seem to notice.

-That’s when things get really weird.

Dean moves around the bed, stopping by the and taking a couple more pictures of his face.

-Weren't things weird before?

Ron whispers low enough so that only Harry could hear, making him snort silently.

-He is lying in a completely different position, holding her.

Dean pointed out the way one of the man’s arms clung to the woman’s torso, holding her close.

-He doesn't have any bruises, not cuts either, nothing but a nose bleed, and look at the way he is holding his wand, looks like suicide by killing curse. 

-Looks like a murder/suicide for me, crime of passion, maybe?

Harry pondered, just as Ron hush passed them, looking a little green, and promptly threw up just outside the door frame, straight into the hallway’s carpet.

Twelve hours later, the autopsy confirmed every single one of Dean’s hunches.

The week had barely started and already felt like an eternity. 

That night, when Luna asked him if the nightmares had stopped, he told his friends about all of the terrifying ways he had witnessed Draco dying. 

-So, you’ve been dreaming about him?

Hermione giggled, unashamedly mocking Harry. She had her legs crossed on top of her leather armchair, a heavy book rested on her right thigh. Ron had ditched the red couch, and was now sitting on the floor by her feet, his head on her left leg, her hands entangled in his mop of ginger hair. 

-It’s not funny, Mione, it’s terrifying. He dies in my dreams every night.

Ron scrunched up his nose, lifting his mug to his lips.

-Well, mate, I’m not an expert, but I bet Luna would tell you that dreaming about trying to save his life is your subconscious telling you to grow some bloody balls and ask him out on a date.

Ginny snorted loudly, and Hermione couldn’t keep her laugh in anymore. Even Harry smiled a little bit

-That 's actually not…

Luna’s hazy voice was cut by Harry’s protest.

-I do NOT fancy him! 

Hermione closed the book and put it on the ground, jerking her head back with laughter.

-Oh Harry, you were literally obsessed with Malfoy all throughout school. In your sixt year you followed him around using the invisibility cloak. I mean, just think about it!

Ginny tipped in from the coffee table, her legs hanging from the edge, her torso leaning back on her arms. She had dragged the table to be next to Luna’s seat, like she did every time. Harry could feel his cheeks growing red with fluster, so he dropped his face into his hands, trying to hide it from his friends

-It’s pretty convenient that he was actually up to something that year, because if he wasn’t that would probably classify as some type of voyeurism or something like that.

-Oh shut up Mione, it wasn’t like that and you know it. 

-Well, you two did hook up that time last year. 

Luna mused, playing with the hem of Ginny’s shirt and laughing along.

-Don’t even get me started on that. As it turns out we didn’t even have sex. 

The room went completely silent for a second, before everyone blurted out into loud laughter once again. This time, Harry joined in.

-Merlin, you two were basically in love with each other ever since first year.

Ron waved his hand at Harry, fighting hard to breathe through the giggles.

It wasn’t totally true, Harry hated Draco for the most part of their early years, afterall he was indeed a spoiled, blood-purist, posh little bitch, but at the same time, it didn't feel like a complete lie. Quite honestly, Harry enjoyed picking fights with him. He enjoyed the exchange of looks, the teasing, the mocking and everything else. All that stuff had been exhilarating. But that was it. It was just exciting. Nothing more. It didn't have to be anything else. Right?

That night, Harry couldn't fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, Draco’s face filled up his mind and he couldn't bear the idea of watching him die again, even if the dreams had gone back to being just dreams. Talking about the old days with his friends made him nostalgic and sensitive to the idea of seeing Draco fade away once more. 

Around 2AM he was convinced he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night, so he went for a walk through the freezing snowy roads. Harry didn't pay much attention to where his legs were taking him, and a good half hour later, he found himself in front of Malfoy’s flat, his index finger pressed against the button on the building's buzzer referent to Draco’s floor, not knowing exactly how he got there. 

When Draco’s metallic tired voice answered, he froze in place. The voice spoke again and Harry turned on his heels to walk away, but before he could even take a step, Draco appeared with a loud crack. He stood there with an ethereal expression, beautiful as ever. Even sleep deprived he looked stunning.

-Hard time sleeping, Potter?

-Something like that.

Harry’s voice sounded hoarse, and just then he realized how cold he was. He left the house wearing nothing but jeans and a thin shirt. Draco seemed to notice that too.

-It’s really cold out here, would you like to come in? 

-Yes, please.

Malfoy’s flat was warm and cozy, and Harry was really starting to see the appeal of the white theme. Wordlessly, Draco conjured a fluffy and very soft blanket and handed it to Harry who wrapped it around his shoulders, he was being guided to yet another room of the massive penthouse. This one was composed of two couches and a coffee table, along with a lit fireplace and a small sideboard complete with an electric kettle, a wide variety of tea bags and a tray of white mugs.

-Tea? 

-Sure. Earl Gray, please.

Malfoy handled the kettle and filled two of the mugs. He pointed out one of the sofas and waited until Harry took his seat before handing him his cup. Harry clutched it into his two hands and took a big gulp, ignoring the burning sensation as it traveled down to his stomach. They sat like that for a little while, not wanting to move. 

-So... you needed to check again?

Draco’s hair reflected the warm light coming from the fireplace. The sinuous movements from the flame casted soft shadows on his face, making him look even more tired and even more beautiful.

-I never actually got to sleep. I was… apprehensive.

-Apprehensive.

It came out more like an affirmation rather than a question, but Harry felt the need to elaborate anyway 

-Didn’t feel like watching you die again.

Draco nodded, crossing one leg over the other, assuming his “renaissance masterpiece” poise, just like he did the first time Harry came by after the hookup. 

-Yes, I… I get it, Potter, really do. Couldn’t sleep either. But why did you show up then? No nightmares, no need to check.

And there it was. Harry knew he was right, and if he were to be totally honest, he hadn’t the faintest idea on what in Merlin’s name he was doing there. He let the question waver in the air and stayed still, silently praying that if he stood unmoving, he wouldn’t have to answer. His prayers were clearly not heard, because Draco lifted his eyebrows and projected his body forward in a demanding manner. That small move made Harry bring up his walls instantly, flipping the switch in his brain from friendly talk to bickering in the blink of an eye.

-I don’t know Malfoy, maybe i just wanted to disturb your sleep.

He took a sharp breath, and then relaxed. _Yes_ , he could do _that_. That was _easy_. When it came to Malfoy, it was _so much_ easier to fall into mindless banter than to try and behave like an adult. This was their comfort zone. This was _safe_.

Draco’s eyebrows shot up even higher, and he retrieved his body, adjusting to the new tone of their conversation, engaging instantly into the quarrel.

-Well, you already did that, so feel free to leave whenever.

He slammed his mug on the coffee table and rudely stood up, making a move towards the door. Harry stood with him, and was about to cross the doorframe when they heard the subtle “ _ding_ ” that the elevator’s doors made whenever they reached that floor.

Harry’s body reacted faster than his mind, his Auror senses kicking in, and in a matter of seconds, the cozy blanket layed on the floor, and Harry shielded Draco by positioning himself before him, wand in hand. 

He slowly guided his index fingers up to his own lips, signing for Draco to stay silent, and began moving towards the hallway. He could hear noisy rattling on the living room, something clicking across the white tiled floor. Draco moved with him, not making a single sound, holding his breath, his wand held tightly between his fingers.

Harry froze when he saw movement. Something really short and thin was dizzily walking towards them. It was definitely a person. Draco took an exasperated breath and held Harry’s wand arm back, preventing him from hexing the figure.

-Pansy! What the fuck are you doing?

He pushed Harry’s body out of the way and hushed forward, taking a very clearly inebriated Pansy Parkinson in his arms

-He… He dumped me, Draco.

Her voice came out breathy and weird, and instantly Harry knew he wasn’t supposed to be witnessing any of that.

Draco lifted her off her feet and settled her in his lap, carrying her to one of the bedrooms.

-Potter, do you mind fetching her a glass of water? I’ll fucking kill Nott. Mark my words Pans, i’ll murder him. 

Harry didn’t have to be asked twice. He made his way straight into the kitchen, still hearing Pansy’s incoherent mumbling, now muffled by the distance. He took the filled glass and went back into the room.

Draco was holding Pansy’s small body up by her waist while shoving a shirt down her head. Her pretty party dress was thrown on the mattress, along with her purse and wand. Somehow, he managed to dress her, and maneuvered her body to rest in the bed on a seated position, her back against the headboard. He reached for the glass and led it to her lips, instructing her to swallow. 

-I’m so sorry about this, Potter, but can you please just keep an eye on her while I look for the hangover potion?

-Yeah, sure, you can…

Harry was interrupted by Pansy’s wailing voice

-Potter? _Harry_ Potter? That’s weird, we hate him… He bolted, didn’t he? He left you, why is he here?

Draco blushed, handing him the glass and leaving the room.

-I’ll be right back, and then you can leave.

As soon as he disappeared through the door, Harry approached the bed and put his hand on her shoulder, preventing her from falling. Pansy’s eyes seemed to focus on his face, a hazy expression on her pug-like features.

-You broke his heart, didn’t you? In pieces. 

Harry flinched, squeezing his eyes shut and trying desperately to ignore the accusation.

-You should drink more water, Parkinson. Here.

He put the glass back on her lips, and she took a few more sips before promptly pushing it away and throwing up straight on Harry’s lap.

-Oops. Sorry. No, not really. Not sorry.

She giggled, using her right hand to pat him on the shoulder.

Pansy managed to throw up two more times by the time Draco returned. Thankfully, Harry prevented those ones and was able to avoid being hit by it again. 

-Oh for fucks’...I’m terribly sorry, Harry. Pansy what did you take? What are you on? 

She tilted her head and squinted, as if trying to come up with a lie, after a few seconds of pondering she straightened herself back up and answered.

-FireWhiskey

-Don’t try me, Parkinson, you know i’m a healer. 

Draco’s voice assumed a fatherly tone that reminded Harry strangely of Hermione, and he cast a couple of hushed scourgifying spells, cleaning up the mess.

-It wasn’t a lie, I did drink FireWhiskey, along with a bit of molly, but it’s fine, I’m fine.

She moved her body to stand up, but Draco pushed her back into the bed before turning to face Harry.

-Potter, please, can you just… Can you wait for me in the kitchen? I’ll be right with you, I just need to put her to sleep.

-I can go home, don’t want to get in your way

-Nonsense, i’ll get you a clean shirt before you leave, just… twenty minutes, i promise.

His delicate features were twisted into deep worry and something that resembled pain. Harry couldn’t bring himself to decline. 

When Draco finally left the room another day had already begun and the sun was already rising. While he waited, Harry had taken the liberty to prepare another round of tea for both of them, but Malfoy took so long that he decided to apparate and fetch some breakfast pastries.

By the time he showed up, both the tea and the pastries had gone cold. Harry was too afraid to ditch on him again, so he stood patiently on the balcony, fighting to keep his eyelids open and a little worried that he would be late to work.

Draco seemed really tired and was clearly surprised by Harry’s presence. 

-Salazar! Potter, What are you still doing here? 

He looked absolutely dumbstruck, incredulous. His eyes darted between Harry’s tired face and the carefully put together breakfast on the kitchen counter.

-You didn't have to… Why did you wait this long?

Draco softened his voice whilst shortening the distance between them. Harry could see the confusion inside his cloudy gray eyes.

-Because you asked me to.

He answered honestly, too tired to come up with something that sounded less needy, rubbing his eyes under his glasses in hopes of hushing his sleepiness away. 

-That’s all you’ve got to do, Malfoy. All you have to do is ask and I’ll do whatever you want me to. 

Harry said, with his mouth but not with his brain. His filter was long gone with tiredness, and he didn't realize what exactly he was saying until the words were already out of his lips and it was too late. Draco took another step in his direction, and suddenly, there was not much space in between them. Harry pondered about closing the gap and kissing him.

-You don't mean that.

Draco’s voice cracked, and he took yet another step. The distance was nearly unbearable, and Harry’s heart jumped inside his chest, aching with something that felt like hope.

The thing was, Harry did mean it. He really fucking meant it, and he had every intentention to make that clear to Malfoy, but before he could think of the right words to say, a shimering blur slid across the sky in his direction. Harry quickly realized it was Ron’s patronus. The misty jack russell terrier approached Draco’s balcony at high speed, and soon, Ron’s voice filled the silence.

“ _Two more victims, we need you_ ”

Draco took a long breath, silver eyes still locked into the green ones. Harry knew he had to go, but he still didn't want to. 

-Work… I have to go. Will Parkinson be ok?

-Yes, I’ll take care of her. You need a clean shirt.

Even though Draco had scourgifyed his earlier, the spell hadn’t been enough to get rid of the pungent smell. Harry nodded and followed Malfoy inside one more time. He stood by the kitchen while the slytherin fetched him a clean shirt. 

-Thank you… for the food. And for helping with Pans.

Draco pushed a deep green shirt into his hands.

-It 's nothing.

Harry hesitated for only a second before continuing, praying to whoever could hear that he wouldn’t regret doing what he was about to do.

-I’ll come get you, ok?

-What?

Harry slid off his dirty shirt and cast a few freshening charms over his skin, feeling Daco’s eyes on his torso.

-Friday, at eight. Be ready.

He clothed himself with Draco's shirt then tightened his grip on his own shirt’s grimmy fabric and apparated straight into the ministry, just as Ron was preparing to leave.

-Morning Ron.

The ginger turned to face him, a confused expression on his face.

-You look awful, mate.

-Thanks, it’s a long story.

-Ready to say goodbye to your breakfast?

-Always.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry comes to an important realization, Hermione is a good friend, and Dean Thomas is not happy.

The first thing Harry realized was that Dean Thomas looked unusually pale. The second thing had to be the pungent smell. Ron’s body tensed up beside Harry, and he cleared his throat.

The second couple had nothing at all in common with the first one, and although the similarities in between the cases was undeniable, this specific one became even more grotesque when Dean led them inside to see the bodies. It was a dreadful sight. The first body looked like a swollen puffer fish, the skin gained a green quality that made Harry thank the universe for not having eaten anything that morning. The man had his eyes open, almost popping out of his skull, his veins turned into a weird shade of gray and enhanced drastically the expression of pure terror forever carved in his disfigured face. It was absolutely disturbing how desperately his partner clung to his body, arms locked firmly around his waist, head buried in his neck. But still, that was not the worst part, not by far. The worst part was the terrifying realization that Harry knew them. He knew both of them. Hell, he had been to their wedding not even six months ago. Justin Finch-Flecthley and Ernest Macmillan laid motionless in their bed.

-So this completely debunks our theory on passion crime, huh?

Ron’s voice came out ragged, and Harry knew he was trying to make light of the situation, masking his shock with humor. Dean Thomas made a funny little gagging sound, as if trying to hold back tears. He cleared his throat and sighed.

-There is only one thing that would do this to a body: Drowning on salty water.

Dean’s camera clicked a couple times, his fingers trembling slightly.

-Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think we’re in the ocean.

Ron put in. It was meant to be a joke, Harry thought, but Ron’s voice seemed so haunted and filled with sadness that it came out more like a morbid observation.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind and find something helpful to say.

-Ok Dean, I need a run down on what you think. I can’t see how this could’ve happened.

-Well, I think… Fuck, Justin seems to have drowned in salt water, but as you can see, the body in completely dry, and… Ernie… suicide. 

Dean was in a loss for words. Ron approached him and squeezed his shoulders slightly. 

-Harry, I don’t really think Ernie would have…

Ron didn't have to finnish the sentence. 

-This attacks have to be linked. It’s far too similar to be a coincidence, Ron. This doesn't look like a murder/suicide. I know Ernie would never hurt Justin.

-So what are you thinking? Serial killer? 

Dean watched the conversation really closely. Eyes wide and red with the effort of holding back tears. Harry looked at him and realized he wouldn’t be of much help.

-It’s alright if you wanna sit this one out, Dean, I know you and Seamus were close friends with them.

He nodded lightly and let out a whispered “Thanks, Harry” before leaving the loft.

When Martha brought coffee, both Ron and Harry were almost losing their minds. The whole thing seemed like a puzzle of jagged pieces that wouldn't for the love of Merlin and Morgana fit together. 

-You two are looking rough, is there anything else I can do to help?

Martha U. Runcorn was a small, young and chubby witch. She had been Harry’s secretary ever since he became Head Auror. He liked her a lot, she had been a hufflepuff and was always very helpful. The only person that didn't seem too keen on her was Hermione, but Harry suspected it was due to jealousy.

-No, Martha, but thank you anyway. 

-You look really tired, Mr. Potter, trouble sleeping? I could bring you some Dreamless Sleep, If you’d like.

She frowned deeply, a concerned expression on her kind face 

-I’m fine, just a tough night, nothing to worry about.

She nodded and quickly left, leaving them to it.

-We just have to find a connection, Harry. These two are clearly connected, we just need something that fits on the victims’ profiles.

-I know that, Ron, but they are just so different! Nothing fits, sexuality, race, jobs, the first couple wasn't even married. Not even their hair colours match! 

The afternoon went on and on, every passing second things only got more and more confusing. They left the office late at night, and Harry had just completed thirty two hours without rest. When he got to Grimmauld Place he knew he would have no trouble sleeping at all, but against all odds, the exhaustion didn't do anything to prevent Harry from having the worst nightmare since. It took him a few moments to realise he was walking in the Forbidden Forest. The heavy timber was covered by a dense fog that only allowed him to see a couple feet forward, dark old trees and mistic animal sounds closing in around him. Harry was following a path that seemed to be recently created in the leaves on the ground. He was fully aware of where that was going to take him. He knew Draco was dying somewhere in that forest. By now he was sure Malfoy would be fine the other day, but Harry was breaking out in cold sweat. His steps stiff and fast, his eyes quickly searching for the blond figure. Deep down, he knew Draco was safe and sound, sleeping in the Penthouse, that none of that was actually happening, but it didn't stop the growing feeling of pure despair that crept up on him. The cold dew cooling his skin, the noises he could clearly distinguish from one another and where they came from, the unbeatable darkness and the heavy gaze of the trees felt nothing like a dream. It was all so tangible. Harry was terrified.

His feet stopped in a glade, the only part of the forest where he could actually see the sky. It was full of stars and the moonlight illuminated everything in that small area, giving the scene a glistening covering, like a fine coat of varnish. 

And there he was. Right there. Right in front of him. He was sitting in a big rock, elbows on his knees, holding his own head in between his hands, facing down. His hair was loose and fell over his shoulders white as snow.

Harry could feel his tears wetting his cheeks, his heart beating against his chest so fast it hurt. He only realised in this dream he had a voice when his own ugly sobb hit his ears. Draco also heard him. He looked up, tightening the grip on his hands. He wore the dark green shirt he landed Harry earlier that day.

-No…

Harry couldn't think of what to say. His breathing was hard and heavy, his chest ached, he was trembling, fighting to stay on his feet. The well known feeling of a panic attack settling in between his ribs. 

Suddenly Draco gasped out a piercing scream that quickly turned into Harry’s name. His voice sounded so terrified that Harry snapped out of it completely and tried to leap forward, his senses fighting hard to protect Draco. 

-Harry! Please!

Malfoy stretched his right hand, their gazes met again and Harry was filled by the will of running into draco's arms. But he couldn't. He couldn't move. Unlike the first time, Harry had the strength to move, he saw his own movements fighting against something that was holding him still. It was like he had control over his body, but was tied down. 

He looked up again and Draco was surrounded by dementors.

-No! Draco! 

His voice tore through him in a painful shout, as he tried harder to pull his arms from whatever was holding him still, but the effort hurt more than helped.

He watched the scene in slow motion. One of the dementors bent down, towering over Draco, knocking him to the grass. He stood over Malfoy’s limp body and started feeding on his memories. Harry knew exactly where this was going. He knew he was about to watch Draco receive the Dementor’s Kiss.

Harry’s entire body trembled with sobbs, his throat raw from shouting at the black figures, pleading with them uselessly. He could do nothing but watch as Draco’s soul was pulled out of him right in front of his eyes. Another person having their soul taken away because of Harry. Just like Sirius, his friends and himself many times before. Steps away. 

Powerless, Harry watched. He watched as Draco’s life was dragged from him, stolen. Harry cried the entire time, his eyes never leaving Draco, and stood there as he became an empty shell. 

When Harry woke up, tears streaming down his face, he was completely sure of two things:

1- He was utterly and undeniably in love with one Draco Malfoy

2- His body was covered in ugly bruises, and he didn't know where they came from.

The friday morning came and went like a blur. No more bodies found, but Harry had the sneaky feeling that soon there would be. He spent so much time going through the case files that by lunchtime, when Hermione came around, the letters had stopped properly forming words. 

-Harry, you look so tired!

He grimaced at her, knowing she wouldn't let it go until he had spilled all of his secrets.

-I’m not sleeping well, Mione. The nightmares are getting worse and honestly work’s been hard.

She scrunched up her beautiful face in a frown and went blank behind the eyes. Harry knew that expression, he knew it meant she was trying to remember something. She shook her head slightly and smiled at him.

-Yeah, so Ron tells me. ‘Cmon, I’ll treat you to lunch, you look like you could use a break.

There were very few things in this word Harry loved more than he loved Hermione, and the way she seemed to always know exactly what he needed couldn’t be more convenient.

-Alright Mrs.Granger, I’ll let you take me out.

Technically speaking, Hermione was now a Weasley, but Harry never made a real effort to call her by her married name, and quite honestly, she didn’t really mind. 

Her shoulders shook slightly with her laughter as she moved to reach his overcoat.

-Ok, Mr. Potter, let’s go

Harry stood up and walked to her, grabbing the coat from her hands with a big smile stretching his lips. Hermione had always been a ray of sunshine in the midst of the dark.

They made their way to the Leaky in small talk. Hermione didn't bring up the nightmares and neither did Harry. She didn't ask about Draco either, but Harry could tell she was going to, and he was dreading the moment. Harry’s heart hammered on his chest just thinking about him, talking about it might actually _kill_ him.

Lunch with Hermione was a regular occurrence at least once a week, every once in a while Ron joined, but at the end of the day, it was Harry and Hermione’s thing. They used to do it way more often, but ever since she had become an Unspeakable she was always busy. Harry was eternally glad that she still made the time to catch up with him, just like in the old days. 

The second they were comfortably installed in their usual table, she put on a purposeful smile that meant Harry was fucked. 

-So, you’ve been seeing Malfoy?

He felt his face warming up and cleared his throat, staring at the menu as if he wasn't going to order the same exact dish he always had.

-Yeah, I guess. 

Hermione made a funny little sound, trying to catch his attention, but Harry kept his eyes on the piece of parchment. The next time she spoke, she used her mom voice.

-And how's that working for you? 

Harry choked in his own saliva, giving up on the act and lifting his eyes to look into hers again. His face felt hot and he didn't know what to do with his fingers.

-I saw Pansy Parkinson at his place. She was a mess.

Hermione knew him well enough to catch on to what he was doing, telling her without _telling_ it exactly, and, because she was perfect, she kept quiet, waiting for him to go on.

-She seems to think I… _somehow_ … broke his heart?

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up her forehead as she tilted her upper body forward.

-And did you? 

-Not on purpose, no.

She smirked, unfolding her arms. Harry grimaced, knowing what was coming next. His heart skipped a beat in anticipation.

-So you  _ did _ . 

Harry nodded slowly, memories of Draco’s balcony filling his mind to the brim.

-He asked me to stay. I did. We’re going on a date. Today.

Hermione’s eyes glinted with something close to amusement before she bursted out laughing. 

-Oh Harry, you’re too far gone. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, pretending not to understand what she was accusing him of.

-Ah 'c'mon, Harry.  _ “He asked me to stay” _ ? That’s basically Harry Potter for  _ “Our children will be beautiful”. _

She was,  as per usual , completely right.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco go on a date, and it doesn't end well.

Harry spent the entire afternoon trying hard, with no success at all, not to freak out. By the time he was out of the office, his palms were covered in sweat, and his heart had settled in a strange peacing. To say he was nervous would have been a huge underestimation. 

But it was  _ fine _ , he was  _ fine _ . Harry had a plan, and there was no way this date was going to go sideways. He had planned his every move, since, up until now, he was improvising and running away, and that wasn’t particularly working.

Harry was going to take Draco to a muggle restaurant he really liked, and he knew for a fact that the slytherin had never been, new experiences and all that, then they were going to take dessert from a nice churro-ice cream cart that he used to go to a few years ago. After that he was going to bring Draco to his house so they could have some drinks and maybe… talk. 

He went through the plan again and again during his shower, certain that nothing could possibly go wrong. He thought it over while dressing up in a gray long-sleeved turtleneck, black skinny jeans and his fanciest pair of black shoes. Harry stood in front of the bathroom mirror and swiftly rolled up his sleeves, remembering that time that Bill complimented his forearms. Of course Harry had the biggest crush on the oldest Weasley sibling at the time, so he decided to believe his forearms were indeed nice. At the last minute he remembered to put on a bit of perfume and ran to the fireplace, flooing straight into Draco’s living room.

He was stunning. His hair fell on his shoulders, brushed back, away from his face to show his beautiful angular features. Draco wore a deep olive green shirt with the first three buttons unbuttoned, tucked into his suit pants. A cruel move on Harry's opinion. 

-You’re late.

Draco adjusted his coat on his arm before looking him in the eyes. There was no actual bite on his voice, just a little annoyance.

-And severely underdressed.

Harry’s heart dropped to his stomach, his pride slightly hurt.

-Thank you.

No. No, no, no. He was not about to ruin their date by playing that stupid game of cat and mouse. Harry knew better than to take the bait.

-Lets go, maybe you’ll be nicer when you’re full. You look gorgeous by the way. I like it when you wear your hair like that.

Draco didn’t answer, but Harry noticed the blush on his cheeks as he walked beside him.

The restaurant was a cozy place. The yellow light made it seem warmer, even though it was snowing. Every single table was laid with a fancy white sheet, made of a fabric Harry didn’t recognize, and a small wooden center-piece. It wasn’t a bad place at all, but still, Draco seemed misplaced. His poise seemed far too posh to be standing in such an informal little place. 

They took the far corner table, by the big windows. It was a nice view, trees all around and pretty street lights that gave the neighbourhood a vintage look. Draco took the seat directly in front of Harry  and promptly took out his wand, waving it around.

-The fuck are you doing? You bloody pillock!

Harry let out in one breath, in a hushed voice, leaping forward to take the wand from Malfoy’s hands.

-What? Give it back to me! I was simply trying to conjure the menu… 

Draco’s face twisted in a frown as he looked around more closely, actually paying attention to the room for the first time. Harry could tell the exact moment when understanding dawned on him.

-You brought me to a… muggle restaurant.

For the second time in that evening Harrys' heart felt heavy. Had he done the wrong thing? Did Draco still carry any of his prejudice from the past? Harry couldn’t possibly have misread the situation that badly, could he? Draco couldn't possibly still be a prejudiced little posh git.

-I.. yeah. It is. It’s alright if you’d rather leave, I…

His rambling was immediately cut by Draco’s startled voice. 

-No. it 's fine. I don’t have a problem with it, Potter, I just… didn’t realize.

Harry nodded and let out a relieved sigh. None of them said anything else, and suddenly an almost deafening silence installed itself at their table. Draco lowered his gaze to his hands, acting as if his fingers were the most interesting thing on planet earth. Harry wanted to bury himself right then and there. 

When the waitress came up to their table, Harry almost thanked her. They both quickly ordered, and as soon as the girl left, the uncomfortable atmosphere was back.

-So, how is your job?

Draco’s expression lighted up, and his eyes gained an eager quality. When he spoke, his voice was filled with delight. Anyone could tell he loved his job.

-It’s... difficult, sometimes. I still love it, obviously, but it can be tricky, for example, this past few weeks a lot of people have been showing up with the strangest symptoms, but I can't find an explanation for it.

Harry dropped his head slightly to the side, taking genuine interest in the topic. Relieve washed through him, maybe this wasn't completely doomed. 

-It must be really hard dealing with people in their most vulnerable state. I imagine they get defensive.

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed and Harry immediately knew he had said the wrong thing.

-They do… I’m getting used to being referred to as “filthy Death Eater scum”.

He lifted his hands in the air, using his pale fingers to trace quotation marks on the air before dropping them on his lap and looking down, staring at his glass of wine. 

Harry mentally slapped himself for bringing it up and wandered how much Malfoy was regretting accepting the invitation. All of a sudden, his head was way too loud, making it hard to think properly. Harry was quickly falling down a rabbithole of negative assumptions. 

_ “He doesn’t like you. He just came because you left him no choice. You don’t even know how to maintain a conversation. He’ll never want you. He hates you…” _

He stood up abruptly, placing his hands on the table top.

-I’ll be right back, just..  the  loo . Sorry. 

Harry hurried all the way to the bathroom and promptly propped his weight on the sink, facing his own gaze in the mirror.

“ _ That fucking twat is not following the bloody script _ **_”_ **

The feeling of utter and complete failure took over his chest in a split second. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands on his face, trying to collect himself. There had to be a way to rescue this, t he night wasn’t over yet, he could fix it. 

Harry stepped out of the man’s room completely determined to save their date.

As soon as his eyes caught sight of their corner of parlor, his heart skipped three full beats.

Dark red fluid stained the floor. Harry knew he was awake, he knew this was real. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Fucking bad omens. 

A tall lanky man towered over Draco’s seat, blocking his view, and Harry couldn’t be sure where the blood was coming from. With a million heart beats per second, Harry ran to the table, instively holding back the man with both hands. With a dry mouth and a heavy heart, he searched for Draco’s bleeding figure. He knew he was too late. Just like in the dreams.

The waiter delicately threw off his grip, looking confused and concerned.

Draco’s body was nowhere to be found. Instead, his gaze met a silver one, and a rush of relief so strong ran over his body that he could feel his eyes beginning to water.

-Harry?

Draco looked absolutely dumbstruck, jaw tightened and eyes wide. His voice pushed Harry to the verge of tears.

-Draco, I… I thought… 

His voice got caught on his throat so he stopped talking.

-I’m ok. It’s wine, just wine. I’m fine.

His tone became softer, and he stretched out his arm to gently squeeze Harry’s hand as soon as he sat back down.

When the mess was cleared, the wine was no longer staining the wood floors and they were alone again, Draco made an effort to engage in conversation, but Harry was still so shaken that he could barely respond.

They went through the rest of the meal in complete silence.

Draco cut his food in very tiny pieces, and Harry didn’t remember seeing him put all of them in his mouth.

-Do you still enjoy ice cream?

Harry asked as soon as they stepped outside.

-No, it turns out i’m lactose intolerant.

He blinked a few times, trying to digest the words, and asking himself how in the hell could he have fucked up that badly. Before he could say anything else, Malfoy started laughing. Loudly.

-Ah.. you were.. joking. 

-Yes, Potter, I was. You are so… I don’t know, anxious, I couldn’t help myself.

Harry took a second to try and understand what exactly was going on inside Draco’s brain.

-I’m  _ so _ sorry, Draco, for  _ fucking _ wanting to have a good time.

His voice dripped with sarcasm and hurt. Draco didn't seem to catch on, either that or he simply didn't care. 

-You’re forgiven. Now, are we or are we not going to have ice cream? I thought Griffindoors kept their promises, and you promised me desert.

Draco was still laughing, but Harry wasn't. Harry was confused and hurt.

-That’s shit, Malfoy. You’re so fucking selfish. I don't even know why I tried. Fucking slytherins, I should’ve known.

Draco froze in place. His laugh ceased so abruptly that it was almost like it never even existed. His face turned to stone.

-Yes, of course. I’m the selfish one. You’re such a sanctimonious prick! 

-I had a fucking plan, Malfoy. I wanted you to like me! I put so much effort into trying to come up with a nice date and you just…

His words were cut short by a now furious Draco. His voice loud and angry

-Amazing plan, Potter, bringing me to muggle establishment. What were you trying to do? Check if I’m still as much of a blood purist as I was at sixteen? You really thought I wasn’t going to figure it out? 

Harry felt the accusation cut through him like a knife. His eyes widened with the realization and his anger went away, substituted by an enormous amount of something else, something he didn't quite understand.

-Cmon, that’s not fair. That's not at all what I was trying to do.

His voice came out almost a whisper.

-Well, that’s even worse. It means you don't know me at all.

Harry would have prefered to be hit by a truck, because as hurtful as Draco’s statement was, it was also true. 

Harry didn't know Draco. 

Because a year ago he hadn't chosen to stay.

He could tell Draco was still furious, and if he hadn't known better, he would have sworn Malfoy conjured the storm.

The water came out of nowhere, so heavy and cold that it almost knocked Harry backwards, his feet fighting to keep him up. Without thinking, he pushed Draco lightly, guiding him to the nearest shop, trying to lead him to safety. In one moment, Harry had one of his hands on Draco’s lower back, and in the next, he was on the ground. His entire body was wet, shaking, and he knew he had fallen head first into the pavement, because it hurt so much he could barely open his eyes. 

Draco’s hands pulled him up, and with a loud crack, apparated them both. 

The apparition took it’s price, and Harry had little time to push Malfoy away before throwing up his entire dinner. He was truly surprised and absolutely relieved to be puking on the wooden floors of Grimmauld Place, silently thanking Draco for bringing him home, and not to the Penthouse. 

Draco cleaned up the mess with a quick swish of his wand, and carefully guided Harry to sit on Ron’s couch, applying a drying charm over his body.

-You’re bleeding, don’t move. I’ll be right back.

Harry nodded slightly. The movement made the whole world twirl around and he fought not to gag again. Two loud cracks later, Draco was placing a cold bottle against his lips. Harry promptly drank the bitter potion, and the world clicked back into place instantly. Before he could say anything, Draco’s fingers were on his forehead, brushing his hair out of the way so he could take a proper look at the cut. 

-Thanks, Draco. You didn’t have to…

-Don’t thank me, I’m still mad at you.

Draco’s tone was harsh and cold, completely opposite from his cautious touch. He vanished the blood away and sighed heavily.

-It’s deep, but you’ll be fine.

Harry shuddered and closed his eyes, bracing himself for pain, but Draco simply muttered  _ “Vulnera Sanentur”  _ under his breath, and the slight throb on Harry’s forehead went away. 

-Thank you.

-I’m just doing my job, Potter, don’t read into it. 

Harry nodded slightly, pursing his lips and lifting his eyes to stare straight into the cold gray ones.

-You were right. I don’t know you. 

Draco looked a little caught by surprise, taking his fingers away from Harry. His lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Harry cut him off before he could say anything

-But I want to.

Malfoy shut his mouth close and shook his head slightly, making one strand of pale blond hair fall over his eyes. Harry fought off the instinct to lean forward and tuck it back into place. His eyes searched Draco’s for rejection, but the cloudy gray gaze was as good as indecipherable. 

-I didn’t bring you to a muggle place to check anything. I know you’re not… I mean, i’m not saying we don’t have shit to work out, but i mean it. I want to get to know you, Draco. 

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed, and for a split second an expression of pure confusion took over his features before the neutral, cold one came back. 

-If you know… You couldn’t possibly have… If not… 

He blinked slowly, bringing his hand to tuck the rebellious lock of hair behind his ear. Draco was clearly struggling to keep his impassive expression in place, and Harry could see right through the cracks on the mask. 

-If you knew… Why didn’t you stay?

The question came out in a whisper so soft it almost broke Harry right in half. He knew Draco was talking about that morning. The morning of careful touching and white light. The morning of deciding not to stay.

Harry’s lips parted, ready to answer, but he had absolutely no idea why he had left, so he closed them up again, swallowing hard and searching his memories for a reason, for an explanation. 

-I… I don't know

Draco’s faltered expression vanished, all the walls up again, his lips a thin line and his eyes burning with a fire so intense that Harry couldn’t help but stray away from his gaze.

-You  _ don't know _ .

Harry could tell Draco was mad because his words came out so cold and distant that he could almost feel them tearing through his skin like daggers. 

-Perfect, Potter. Just perfect. Thank you for the dinner. 

Draco stood up abruptly and walked to the door, looking angry and hurt. Harry simply couldn't let him go, so he jumped to his feet and ran, holding him by the wrist.

-Stay. Please. 

His voice was hoarse, and he wished to swallow back the words the instant they left his lips. His plea only seemed to anger Draco further, because the next thing he knew, Draco had him pinned against the wall, hands on his collar, eyes furiously staring into his face, locking him in place.

-How  _ dare  _ you, Potter. 

Harry shuddered inwardly and closed his eyes, taking a broken breath.

Draco slid one hand out of his throat and slammed the wall, right next to Harry’s head, with such force that Harry felt it quiver under his body. The impact stirred something in Harry, and suddenly, all he could think of were Draco’s hands touching his skin, Draco’s breath blowing on his hair, Draco’s gaze burning through his closed eyelids, Draco’s chest against his. 

His eyes snapped open, and he looked up to find a gorgeously flustered Draco Malfoy. A wave of desire knocked him so hard that all he was able to force out of his lips was a whiny breath. Draco must’ve felt it too, because he lowered his face to Harry’s, lips almost touching, he let go completely of the collar, resting his other hand next to the other side of Harry’s head, trapping him, locked their gazes and growled

-How  _ dare _ you ask me to stay.

Harry lifted his chin, searching for his lips, aching to kiss him, but Draco moved away, bending down to rest his mouth against the sensitive skin on Harry’s neck. 

Harry whispered his name, melting into his grasp, resting his weight on the wall to stop himself from sliding to the floor. 

Draco torturously brushed his lips across Harry’s neck, barely touching it, and Harry gasped, allowing his fingers to entangle themselves on the long blonde locks and his eyes to fall closed once more. Draco’s mouth left a trail of pure fire across the skin, bringing Harry to life with long forgotten memories of those same lips over his own.

He tugged lightly on Draco’s hair, trying desperately, without any success, to pull him up, to kiss him. Suddenly, Darco pushed himself away, putting a painful amount of space between their bodies, his eyes still glistening with anger but dark with lust.

-I haven't forgiven you. This is not forgiveness.

Harry let out a frustrated grunt, tingling to touch him again.

-Now I’m going kiss you, and it won’t mean we’re ok.

-Fine, I’m ok with that.

Harry spluttered out, projecting his body forward to put his hands back into Draco’s hair, but before he could Draco met him halfway, crashing their lips together into a hungry kiss. 

Harry kissed back eagerly, whimpering when Draco pulled him closer by the waist, until they were chest to chest again. His cold fingers slid under Harry’s shirt and ran up his back, skin to skin, making him break the kiss with a breathy moan, shivering from head to toe. 

- _ Fuck _ , Draco this is  _ so much _ better than fighting.

Draco licked his jawline, trailed open-mouth kisses along his neck and scraped his nails along Harry’s spine under the thin fabric of his shirt, driving him into oblivion. As soon as he could gather his thoughts, Harry unbuttoned Draco’s fancy shirt, running his hands up and down his chest, frantic to make him feel the same way, pushing him towards the red couch and sitting on his lap. Draco sighed contently and took off the shirt completely, throwing it to the floor. Harry’s mind went blank, he turned into putty in Draco’s hands, willing to be whatever Draco wanted him to be. His skin was so sensitive he could feel every single detail of Draco’s torso on his fingertips, every single scar. 

Every single scar. 

_ Every scar _ . 

Realization hit him like a truck.

Harry parted their lips with a sharp intake of breath, lowering his gaze to the skin under his palms. His fingers traced the scarred tissue with a light, confused touch.

-Draco…What… 

His eyes stared helplessly at the fair skin. Draco looked like broken glass, shattered, and it transported Harry straight into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the familiar warmth of his wand, the fear and the deep deep regret.  _ Sectumsempra _

Hermione once told him the incantation was a mix of Catalan and Latin words.  _ Sectum Sempra _ .  _ Always cut _ . 

Draco’s eyes darted between Harry’s lips and his eyes, slowly coming out of the haze, until he finally seemed to understand. Withdrawing his hands from Harry’s hips, he pushed him off of his lap and stood up slowly.

-I thought you knew… 

His voice was nothing but a faint whisper, and Harry kept staring, unable to look away, not making a single effort to get up, not having the faintest idea of what to say. 

-I think it would be better if I… I’m going home. 

Draco collected his shirt, putting it on his body, and before Harry could hold him back once again, he apparated.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up feeling bad, they find a new crime scene and Blaise Zabini is a bit scary.

Once more, the nightmares of Draco dying ripped him apart. Almost literally.

Harry woke up screaming, body burning in a high fever. Every single one of his muscles felt sore, throat swollen, head heavy and throbbing. He felt like absolute  _ shit _ .

It wasn’t a snowy day, but the December chill lingered in the air, and for someone fighting an upcoming illness it felt more like a personal offence than anything, especially when he had to get up and drag his body to work.

Work. Work was a whole other problem. The moment they found the second scene Harry knew he would have to say goodbye to his weekends until they caught the killer. 

Flooing into the office felt like falling off of a broom. The fall from the previous night had really done him dirty, and remembering the date made him grunt in defeat, the shame of what happened between him and Draco weighed so much in his mind that Harry allowed himself to rest his forehead on the cold glass of his table, relishing in the luxury of a few more minutes of procrastination. 

But, because life is a bitch, the second he closed his eyes his door was opened by an exasperated Ron Weasley.

-We have more bodies, lets go

Ron reached to Harry’s overcoat as he got up, throwing it in the air for Harry to catch like they were sixteen again, in a rush to get to Hogsmeade. 

The ginger also looked like he had a hell of a night, dark circles under his eyes, his sclera was red and irritated, his lips chapped. The last time Harry remembered him looking this bad Ron had Salazar Slitheryn’s locket hanging on his chest.

-Oi, Ron are you ok? You don’t look so well.

Harry asked, picking up his pace to catch up with him. Ron let out an amused laugh, looking him up and down with an incredulous expression on his freckled face.

-You’re one to talk mate, have you seen yourself lately? You look like the tragic aftermath of an ugly troll boxing match.

He opened his mouth to deny, but Harry did indeed have a fever and he hadn't slept properly in at least a month. Sighing, he agreed.

-You’re not wrong.

The couple lived in a common british house: two-story tall and thin, sided with many other brick homes with white framed windows and doors. It reminded him of a sunshine version of Grimmauld Place, although the inside was nothing like Harry’s chaotic and unmatched space: It was white from floor to ceiling, but so inherently different from Draco’s place that Harry held his breath. The small house was completely filled with liveliness. Potted plants and flowers hung from the furniture, all kinds of colors, shapes and sizes. Harry came to the baffling realization that he wouldn't mind at all living in a place like that, surrounded by life. Maybe Draco’s place wouldn't look so impersonal if there were more colours.

_ “Does he like flowers? I could buy him some flowers…”  _

The idea was so appealing that Harry almost forgot why they were there.

Dean was clearly excited, lips stretched into a huge smile, beaming at Ron and Harry. Terrible sign, definitely at least one of them was going to puke.

-That bad? 

Asked Ron in a whisper so that only Harry could hear him.

-You guys won’t bloody believe this!

The trio stepped into the bedroom, Dean guiding them. The room was small and cozy, full of fluffy blankets, curtains, flowers and plants. The bed took most of the space, almost touching the wardrobe. As it turned out, Dean was once again completely right, Harry couldn't believe his own eyes. There was a carbonized body laying on top of the white sheets. 

-As you can see, carborized. The body was consumed, and in some areas the fire ate the flesh straight to the bone. A very strong and stable fire would be needed to disfigure a body like that, really high temperatures. The cause of death was most definitely the fire, if he had died prior to it, the body wouldn't be in this position.

The dead man was contorting himself, arms twisted in a painful way and his back was arched halfway. One of his legs was contracted and the other one was partly stretched. Like he was trying to run, hands displayed in tight fists.

Dean took a pen from his pocket to point out the weird way the fingers curled on themselves, like claws.

-He could have died in one of two ways: by the heat of the fire or he could have been the fuel of the flames. I’m guessing the second option, mostly because of his position. Even without a face, he looks desperate. As if he was trying to put the fire out. Dying from the heat would be more painful, would take longer and his body wouldn’t be this devoured. Oh! I almost forgot the best part! Look at the sheets! The sheets aren’t even slightly damaged, nothing inside the room was ever on fire. He was the only thing to burn!

Harry sighed, and Ron put a heavy hand on his shoulder, partly trying to console him and partly trying to stabilize himself. Maybe it was the smell of burnt meat, maybe of burned hair, but staying in that room was beginning to feel unbearable.

-And the other one?

The ginger’s voice cracked. It didn’t matter how frequently they saw dead people, it never seemed to get easier.

-She is in the bathroom.

-That 's new.

Harry pointed out, slightly surprised.

-Yes, and it means they didn't die at the same time. She had the time to get up and walk herself to the bathroom.

Dean grinned, showing them the way.

Her body laid inside the empty bathtub, her wrists cut. She bled to death.

-Muggle suicide. Didn’t fill the bathtub. Guess she didn’t want to wait.

Harry mused, staring endlessly into the thick red fluid. The woman’s cheeks were stained by a disturbing combination of blood and tears, the tip of her nose tinged with red.

-They have a baby daughter, she’s with her grandparents. 

Dean turned his camera back on and dismissed them with a hand movement.

-We should interrogate them, maybe they know something. 

Ron suggested, as they stepped outside the house.

-Something else connects the cases, we just can’t see it yet. Talking to them might help. I’ll ask Martha to schedule an interview.

The moment he stepped into his own office, right after ordering his secretary to contact the grandparents, Harry knew he wasn’t going to be able to get through the day. His fever wasn’t going anywhere, nor was the pounding in his brain. He would have to go to St. Mungos.

  
  


The hospital wasn’t as cold as he expected. The white walls and metallic smell gave Harry the sensation that the place was chillier than it actually was. He had already spoken to the receptionist and, since his symptoms were not emergencial, he would have to wait for a healer to be available. Harry hadn’t realized he was walking straight into Draco’s workplace until he was already checked in, and he wasn’t completely sure if he did or not hope to see him there, so he simply sat there, thinking about Draco’s hands on his skin until his name was called and a polite nurse guided him to a stretcher. The room reminded him of the familiar Hogwarts nursery, filled with lined up hospital beds separated by blue curtains, and if he tried hard enough, he could almost hear Madam Pomfrey’s voice calling him Mr. Potter. 

He was pulled out from the pleasant memory when Blaize Zabini walked in. 

Blaise didn’t even look at him, just washed his hands and put rubber gloves on. Zabini looked nothing alike the smiley version of himself that sat on Draco’s nightstand, eternally laughing at the camera. He looked harsh, a severe expression on his pinched face.

Harry’s heart leapt, anxiety dried his mouth and changed the rhythm of his breathing like it was the owner of Harry’s every physiological response. If Pansy hated him, so did Zabini. And Harry really needed him to be nice right now.

“ _ At least he won’t throw up on me”  _

-Good evening, Mr. Potter.

Blaise’s voice rumbled in the small space. His tone was comforting and relaxed. But when Harry met his eyes, a chilling sensation took over his body. Zabini’s gaze was heavy and intense, his expression impassive. He  _ definitely _ hated Harry.

-To what do I owe the pleasure?

He adjusted his gloves, eyes almost burning holes deep into Harry's, reaching his soul. Harry gulped and deflected his stare. He didn’t have the time nor the energy to play that game, so he cleared his throat and assumed a serious position, lifting his eyes back into Blaise’s gaze.

-Woke up in a fever, with a bad headache. Think I fell under the weather. I was hoping you could prescribe me some Pepperup or something like that. 

-I see.

His tone was still calm but his eyes drwan a diferent passe to the conversation.

-I’ll be back in a second.

Zabini drew open one of the curtains and walked out, leaving it like that, like he wanted Harry to feel exposed. 

Harry looked down, facing the floor. His body hurt from head to toe and he was under a state of an unnecessary amount of anxiety. When he had the strength to look back up, Draco was just standing there while Blaise held his arm and whispered in his ear. Malfoy’s eyes snapped up and met Harry’s ill form, full of worry. Zabini told him something else and Harry caught his answer.

-No… I’ll do it. Thank you, Blaise.

Draco strood through the hallway, without ever lifting the stare, straight into Harry’s cubicle. He went through the same routine Blaise had, washing his hands and putting on rubber gloves, before asking Harry to lay down.

-I just have a fever.

Malfoy placed one hand on Harry’s chest and slightly pushed him until he was laying on his back. He took out his wand and started performing several diagnosis spells.

-I didn’t ask.

He conjured a small glass vial and painlessly filled it with Harry’s blood.

Harry took a moment to work out why Draco was doing any of that. Thinking was hard with so much discomfort. Slowly, he came to the realization that Draco had probably watched him die inside the hospital. 

-You also died here last night.

Draco lowered his hands, stopping what he was doing to look at him. Harry kept going.

-They were… giving you something. A potion, translucent looking. I watched from the door. It was made of glass and wouldn’t open. The handle didn't turn, the glass wouldn't break. You asked me to stay. I did.

-I asked you to stay in mine too. You died anyway.

Draco carefully closed the vial and brought it up to his eye level, analyzing it cautiously before returning his wand to its designated pocket on his lab coat. He quickly stripped his hands from the gloves before throwing them angrily into the trash can, turning his back to Harry.

-You died from a generalized infection. There are sepsis that can kill you in hours. You had one of those. When I saw you here I … just…

-Had to check.

Draco looked over his shoulder with a small, almost fragile smile.

-Precisely. Had to check.

He vanished the vile and turned around to face Harry once again.

-I’ll contact you if the results show something wrong.

-Thank you Draco. Listen… about yesterday… I didn't...

Zabini walked in, holding a bottle of Pepperup, interrupting his apology. Draco smiled at him again, that tiny breakable smile, and left.

Blaise handed Harry the potion and explained the dosage, asking him not to take more than necessary. He helped Harry up by holding his arm delicately, but once he was in his feet Blaise tightened his grip. He was much taller than Harry, not as strong, but his eyes were honestly the most threatening thing in the world. 

-Don’t hurt him again.

The tone on his voice sent goosebumps up Harry’s spine, and by the time he was alone again, Harry was sure Zabini would have beaten up his arse if he hadn't been ill. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron is curious, Harry cooks and Rita Skeeter still is a bint.

**_The strange case of The Longing Hearts._ **

_After weeks of little movement in a series of unusual killings, a new sense of urgency takes over the wizarding world._

_A new threat reveals itself, taking form in a nightmarish killing spree, presumably connected to ex-Death Eaters. The Auror department has failed to make any advance on the case, under the unwatchful hands of Harry J. Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the force is yet to find and stop the “Longing Hearts” Killer. We, from the Daily Prophet, are not surprised in the slightest, after all, what is there to expect from a child that climbed their way up inside the Ministry based on nothing but fame?_

Harry let the paper drop into the mattress. _Fucking Rita Skeeter_. He knew it wouldn't be long until the press caught the wind of the strange case they were working on, but it wasn't on his plans to be accused of incompetence. The article went on and on about the three different crime scenes in gruesome detail, describing the awful deaths without a hint of compassion for the victims or their relatives. It was absolutely disgusting.

By the end of the afternoon, when Martha’s owl arrived at his window, informing him that the interview with the victims parents had been scheduled first thing on monday, Harry came to a series of quite unsettling realizations:

1-Harry wasn't mad, not in the slightest. He was upset. Completely heartbroken. Because, at least on some level, Rita Skeeter was right: he hadn’t been able to make any advances on the case, and that had to make him a bad Head-Auror, didn't it?

2- The only person he actually wanted to talk to about this whole mess was Draco. 

3- If Harry actually wanted to make any progress on the damn case, he would have to get a decent night of sleep. 

The day went by in a blur and besides not having slept the previous night (partly because he was rereading the cases' files, partly because he was scared) he was perfectly fine. He was, in fact, so well, that he felt the burning need to see Draco’s face and be sure he was fine, not related to the nightmares at all. So, by the end of the afternoon, he stuck his head into the fire and called Draco’s name, praying for him to be home.

-Draco?

He stood still, waiting, and just when he was about to pull back and have a little hysteria, Draco answered.

-Feeling needy, Potter? 

His beautiful face showed up in front of Harry’s eyes, and he almost leaned in to kiss him on the lips.

-Yeah, I actually am. Have you had dinner? I don't fancy eating alone.

It took a moment for Draco to respond. His face scrunched up in a frown, and Harry’s mind went off in a sleep deprived panic, screaming at him that he was pushing things, moving too fast. 

-No... I haven't. Come through. You’re cooking.

Harry smiled the biggest smile, stepping into the floo and mumbling Draco’s address.

Clean and white as always, the Penthouse felt like a palace. Harry definitely did not match the aesthetic. He had his hair wet from the shower and was wearing black sweatpants with a common, simple wite shirt and slippers.

Draco, of fucking couse, wore black suit pants and a white satin shirt, a fancy one, with buttons and everything. He could go to a fashion show in that outfit.

-You did NOT just come into my house wearing _slippers_.

-But it's a sunday! And who wears suit pants inside their own house?

-Someone with taste. Take those off, they’re offending me.

Draco turned on his back, leading him into the kitchen. Harry took off the slippers and threw them into the floo, sending them back home.

-It’s unacceptable to wear slippers, but it's ok to be barefoot?

-Yes! 

-Ok, I took them off, but you’ll have to change your pants. 

Draco raised an eyebrow and looked deep into Harry’s eyes, taking a step closer

-Or... I could just take them off. 

His tone was low, sensual. Harry swallowed hard, heart a million beats per second. Draco’s laughter broke the tension.

-I’m _joking_ , Potter. ‘Cmon, let's take a look at the pantry so you can decide what we are having.

Harry let out a shuddered breath he hadn't realized he was holding and followed the slytherin inside the little room. 

Draco turned on the lights and Harry frowned. 

The room was full of shelves, empty shelves.

Draco had a huge pantry filled exclusively with rice cakes and empty shelves. 

-Hm… I don’t think I can cook anything with this.

Draco nodded, a puzzled look in his pointy features.

-Right. I need to get groceries. Let’s look at the fridge.

The fridge wasn’t much better: it contained two tomatoes, a head of lettuce and about a million apples. Harry closed it, an incredulous expression on his face.

-Draco, honestly what do you eat?

-At the hospital. I mean, I'm always working, so I just eat at the hospital. 

His answer comes out quickly, almost too quickly. Harry nodded slowly, looking deeply into his face for a hint of something out of place, but Draco’s expression was impassive.

-Alright, tell you what, I’ll just go over to my place and bring something. 

Two apparitions later, Harry was bending over Draco’s sink, taking lemons out of one of the bags. 

-So, what are we having?

Draco asked, seated on the counter top, swinging his bare feet and stretching his neck to look over Harry’s shoulder in an attempt to guess what dish Harry was cooking.

-Risotto. Lemon risotto. 

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed and he bit his lip.

-That 's… exotic.

Harry laughed at the new information. He had never taken Draco for a picky eater. 

-Trust me, It’s really good. And as it turns out, I really enjoy acid things. Maybe that's why I enjoy hanging out with you.

Draco put his nose up in the air in such a posh-like manner that Harry couldn’t keep his giggles in. Draco broke away from the fake nonchalance, joining him. 

-Ok, Malfoy, so are you going to help or you’re just gonna sit there looking pretty?

Draco’s laugh died in his throat, his face flushed dark red. Harry realized what he said a second too late, and soon enough he was blushing too. 

And then it happened. 

Draco _smiled_. The most gorgeous smile Harry’s ever seen. It caught him by surprise and something untied inside his chest, coming undone, squeezing the air out of his lungs, rushing his heartbeats. When Draco jumps off the counter to help, Harry needs a moment to remember the recipe. 

They work together, dancing around each other in the kitchen. Harry leads, asking Draco to hand him things, grate cheese, taste something. Draco obliges, moving carefully, watching as Harry cooks with a glint in his eye that Harry can’t quite place.

The atmosphere took over the entire flat, the warmth of the kitchen seeped into the other rooms, and suddenly, Harry felt so comfortable that he was almost sure that if he fell asleep at that moment he wouldn’t have any nightmares at all.

When Harry tried to bring up Draco’s scars, he gracefully changed the subject. Harry didn’t insist on it.

-It smells really good

Draco puts in, bent over the oven, smelling the fumes that come out of it. Harry smiled fondly, diverging his attention to the bottle of white wine and opening it with a loud _‘POP’._ Draco watched as he poured it into the pan, before bringing the bottle to his lips, taking a swig and offering it to Draco with a curt nod.

-Is that a part of the recipe?

Draco accepted the bottle, taking a generous sip.

-Of course it is. Basic cooking knowledge. A shot for the dish, a shot for the cook. Everyone knows that.

Draco giggled, taking another swig and giving it back to Harry.

-Oh, yes. Right. My mistake, Cheff Potter.

-Ready?

Ron’s voice took him out of his reverie. It was monday, and Mrs.Ranshaw was waiting to be called in.

-Yeah, sure.

Harry was prepared for a quick interview, maybe a couple tears, and maybe even hugs, but he was definitely not ready for the woman to come in holding a baby. She looked a lot like Andromeda, gray long hair and kind eyes. The bundle in her arms wiggled slightly and she stepped inside the office.

-Good morning, Aurors. I hope you don’t mind me bringing Evanora. 

Her voice was heavy and hoarse, and Harry couldn't help but feel connected to the situation somehow, because, at the end of the day, he was still as much as an orphan as ten month old Evanora Ranshaw.

-It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Ranshaw, please make yourself comfortable. 

Ron gestured to one of the armchairs. He kept a professional tone to the conversation even though Harry could tell he was struggling not to reach for the baby.

-Do you know of someone that might have wanted to hurt your daughter, Mrs. Ranshaw? 

-Oh no, Auror Weasley, I don't know of anyone that could have wanted to hut Cordelia, or Alatar for that matter. They were a lovely couple, loved each other very dearly.

The woman’s hands tightened around the little bundle of blankets that held their daughter as she wiped away a tear.

The interview went like that for a while, they went through every routine question, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Harry quickly learned that Cordelia and Alatar were very recently married, and apparently the happiest couple in the wizarding world. Until both of them showed up dead.

Midway through, Ron took over the questions, and Harry sat back taking notes. It didn't bother him at all, because he was in fact Head of Investigation, and a very good one. He kept a soft voice, making the lady comfortable, and the whole thing flew by so quickly that Harry almost didn't catch the last question.

-Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with them recently?

Mrs. Ranshaw scrunched up her nose, squinting. Harry assumed she was trying to remember something. 

-Nothing I can remember… Well, they were both so tired, I thought it might have been the baby, but Evanora is so well behaved… Maybe just work, I don't know.

Ron thanked her for taking the time to try and help, assuring her that as soon as they found something she would be the first one to know. Mrs. Ranshaw smiled weakly at them before shaking their hands and leaving the office, little Evanora inside her arms.

When she left, both of them stayed behind. Ron sighed, making Harry look up at his face for the first time that morning and he sight startled him a bit: Ron looked absolutely defeated, and not just by the case, his shoulders seemed heavy, as if he was carrying an invisible weight on his back.

-Hey, have you been sleeping? You look really tired.

Ron muffled a laugh.

-Have you?

Harry couldn't help but join in the giggling. He slept once every two days, but he highly doubted that the things keeping him awake were the same things keeping Ron.

-Maybe we just need to relax a bit. We should go to the pub on friday. You, me and Mione, what do you say?

-Sure. I’ll ask her. 

Ron and Hermione were such a huge part of him that the thought of not having them was enough to throw him into a full blown panic. He had just seen Hermione last week, but he already missed her kind eyes and her pretty hair.

-I miss you guys, you know? Seeing you both everyday, like we did in Hogwarts.

-We miss you too, Harry.

Ron stood up, and Harry followed him, making his way back to his office.

As they went back to the main area of the department Ron started walking really slowly, forcing him to slow down to keep up, as if he was avoiding something. Out of the blue, Ron’s ears grew red in a deep blush, and Harry knew he was utterly fucked.

The ginger took a deep breath and blurted out without any warning.

-Have you shagged him or not?

Harry choked on his own saliva, caught entirely by surprise.

-What?

The word came out more like a cough than an actual word.

-Draco! You only tell Hermione these things and she refuses to tell me. She’s against gossip or whatever. I just want to know if you guys are in a relationship or anything like, just wanna be sure you’re doing ok, that he’s... you know, treating you right and all that. 

Harry stared blankly at his friend’s face, so dumbstruck that he couldn't for the life of him force out anything.

-So?

Ron pressed, raising his eyebrows in anticipation. He had been the first one to know about Harry’s sexuality, of course. He had listened to a whole ass speech Harry had rehearsed at least a million times, about how that didn't change their friendship, and how he was still the same person, only to, at the very end, nod and smile, wiggling his eyebrows and asking _“So, do you think I’m fit?”._

Still, ever since Harry and Ginny started dating, Ron never really asked about his love life. It would be too weird, he reckoned. 

-No, Ron, we didn't _shag_. 

Ron rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath.

- _Make love, copulate, get it on_ , whatever, have you?

-No! We’re just… going out. We had dinner at his place last night. It was really nice, actually.

Harry smiled fondly at the memory, and when Ron saw his expression, he smiled too.

-That’s great mate. But if that posh twat ever hurts you…

He paused to think on what he was going to say next, making things even more funny. 

-I’ll ask Hermione to punch him. Again.

Harry laughed, patting him on the shoulder.

-That was brilliant! He was so scared, remember his face?

-Yes! And she’ll do it again if he plays you. Mark my words!

Harry knew Hermione would punch someone’s face to protect them. He also knew Ron would stand by her yelling for her to use the left hook, like a coach. He saw it happen once in a club. Best day ever.

When the clock hit six pm, Harry was already so tired he couldn’t push himself to do overtime for the millionth time. He quickly gathered the file stupidly labeled “Longing Hearts” and very nearly ran to the Designated Apparition Point. 

Grimmauld Place was very dark and very silent, and Harry couldn’t quite bring himself to go through the trouble of cooking dinner, so, instead, he headed to the bathroom, hoping that a long shower would make him feel more human again. 

It didn't.

Harry couldn't bring himself to stay awake long enough to look over the case’s files. He fell asleep before his head even touched the pillow.

Harry opened his eyes to what seemed like a more tamed version of his nightmares. Of course, this first impression was very very stupid, and highly unrealistic. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the fluorescents enough to be able to look around. Soon enough, Harry registered he was seated on an electric chair, his arms chained to his back. Harry had the faint memory of seeing one of those in a terrible american horror movie. The dream was just like that, he realized, his feet soaked, resting inside a glass receptacle filled with water to the brim, cable wires tangled on the bottom, and suddenly, Harry’s hopes for a less dreadful nightmare seemed so incredibly out of place that all he could do not to scream was hold in his breath. 

Slowly, his brain worked around the new information

“Draco wasn't the one dying this time. It's me. 

That conclusion, of course, also turned out to be complete rubbish, he found out the instant his gaze lifted, meeting a cold dark one.

The slytherin found himself in the same complicated situation. Draco’s expression was smug, almost amused, but his nonchalance didn't fool Harry for a second, his eyes were scared. Absolutely terrified. Draco was damp with sweat, his dry lips slightly parted as he breathed heavily and loudly. 

-Draco.

As soon as the name hit Malfoy's ears, a wave of electricity was released. Draco’s muscles contracted all at once and his features contorted into pure agony. Harry wanted to shed his own skin and reach out, take Draco out of his misery. It took what seemed like a long time for it to stop. The blond slowly relaxed, able to breathe again.

-Harry.

The word came out like a greeting. As if they had run into each other on the Leaky, and Draco greeted him by saying his name instead of hello. 

He was _joking_.

Draco Malfoy was bound to torture device, recovering from a fucking electricity shock and _making jokes_.

The stupid idiot was making _jokes_. 

Harry intended on opening his mouth to answer, but what came out of his lips was a sob. He hadn't even realized he was crying. Draco grinned at him. A broken grin, somehow, still beautiful. The moment was cut short by the second wave of electricity, this time on Harry’s body. The pain was nearly unbearable, so real it was almost palpable. For a split second, Harry was sure his heart had stopped beating. He involuntarily locked his jaw so tightly his teeth hurt. He could feel his diaphragm constrict, making it impossible for Harry to let out the air inside his lungs. The pain blinded him for a moment, and then just as fast as it came, it went away, and Harry was left in pieces.

-Fuck.

He unclenched his jaw, taking a deep breath and trying desperately to remember this wasn't real.

-Everything is going to be ok.

Draco’s voice filled the room, and Harry noticed he was crying too.

-I know.

Hardly able to lift his head, Harry tried to smile reassuringly at him. 

-As soon as I wake up from this, I’m coming to yours. 

Draco looked really small, frail, breakable, and the familiar needed to soothe him, to care for and protect filled Harry’s chest. The slytherin moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue before answering.

-I would like that.

Another wave striked Draco and this time he yelled out loud. His scream broke something in Harry, took something away from his chest. He tried, with no success at all, to free himself from the chains, the metal digging into his skin, smearing with blood from the effort. Harry would give anything to free Draco from the agony. It took a lot longer for it to go away this time, but when it did, Draco laid motionless, and for a blissful moment, Harry was sure he was gone, free from the pain.

He wasn't.

Harry’s circuit came to life, the voltage seeming higher. 

Soon enough, the small room became a parade of bellowing screams.

-Will you stay after that?

Draco asked weakly, and Harry didn't quite catch the words through the pain.

-What?

Harry’s voice was also weak.

-You said you would come over. After this is over. Will you stay? After you check on me I mean.

-I will. Of course I will.

Said harry

-All night?

-All night.

The blinding pain kept coming back, over and over, alternating between both of them. Harry couldn't tell the exact time Draco died. His heart ached badly and he didn't know if it was from the actual torture of if it was from losing Draco once again. 

Harry woke up with a sob and didn't waste a second before grabbing his wand and his glasses, apparating on the spot.

Draco was standing in the living room, arms wrapped around his own body hugging himself. Harry raced through the room and without hesitation pulled him into a tight embrace. Both of them were shaking violently, faces smeared with tears. Harry’s body still hurt, his muscles spasming, as if the shock waves were still in his system, but he kept holding Draco. All night.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up, there is only one body and Draco is dying

Harry woke up and all  he could see was white. Long white blond hair, white porcelain skin, white sheets over his body, white sharp features on a very very familiar face that Harry longed to have close to his own. He couldn’t help but smile.

-I fell asleep.

He rubbed his eyes, wishing the sleepiness away. 

Draco was very pointedly looking at him, chin resting on the palm of his hand, his body leaning sideways into the headboard. 

-Yeah, I figured. 

He looked really tired, Harry realized. His hair was down for the first time since  _ the morning _ , falling in layers into his face, framing delicately his eyes, rimmed with a red tinge, deep dark circles surrounded them, his face scruffy with a trace of facial hair. 

Almost involuntarily, Harry’s hands worked their way to Draco’s pointy tired face, and the sudden urge to rub away the worries with the tips of his fingers overwhelmed him. He took a deep breath and pulled Draco’s face close to his own. 

-Last night was quite something, don’t you think, Potter?

Harry snorted, but Draco didn’t even flinch, his gray gaze searching Harry’s face for something. 

-Quite something indeed.

Harry’s voice broke, words dying in his throat as Draco’s piercing screams filled his memory.

-I don’t know if I even have the strength to talk about it right now. 

Draco’s voice was blank, emotionless, and Harry recalled hearing that tone only once before. At the Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix’s hands tangled painfully in his hair, pinning him in place, his disfigured face itching from the hex and Draco’s voice in a hushed, without a hint of emotion,  _ “I don’t know, I couldn’t be sure.” _

-That’s fine, we don’t have to talk at all. 

Draco’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and Harry felt his cheeks heat up instantly, realization mortifying him.

-Oh no, I’m sorry, that came out wrong, I didn’t mean…

Harry rambled rapidly, eager to apologize, embarrassed and ashamed, but before he could explain any further, Draco’s lips covered his, effectively shutting him up, and without a second of hesitation, he kissed back. 

It was a very different kiss from any other ones they had shared. The other ones had been hushed, lustful, driven by desire. Somehow, that one was tender, filled with unsaid words, somehow almost breakable, fragile, so Harry handled Draco as if he was made of glass, his hands touched the skin with such care it almost hurt, and for the first time ever, Draco melted into the kiss, allowing Harry to take control. 

Harry’s hands slowly worked their way under Draco’s shirt, but before he could do anything, Draco jerked away, recoiling from the touch. Harry grimaced inwardly.

“ _ The scars. _ ”

He, very _ very _ slowly, pulled away from Draco, feeling so so very stupid, because  _ how could he have forgotten? _ His eyes darted from Draco’s pinched face to his clothed chest, Harry’s heart almost threatening to crush his ribs from the sheer pressure of guilt. He swallowed dryly, fixing his gaze into his own hands.

-Draco, I… I didn’t know. I’m…

Pale slender fingers pressed against his lips, cutting his words short, and Harry lifted his eyes to find a quite flustered Draco staring back at him.

-Don’t. Don’t apologize. It 's fine. I forgave you a long time ago. 

The words sounded truthful, but still, Harry opened his mouth to contest. 

-I mean it Potter. If you start apologizing I'll have to apologize. I've done so much evil that I wouldn't be able to stop apologizing until the day we both died, and quite frankly I don’t particularly feel like going through the motions after the night we had. 

He fixed Harry with a very intense look, as if waiting for him to show he understood. Harry nodded once, and Draco retrieved his fingers. 

For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to do with the version of Draco Malfoy that laid in front of him, all bed head and dark circles but still so beautiful it almost felt unfair, and, of course, there was the “ _ I’ve done so much evil _ ” bit that was just a whole other level of not true. Not that Harry didn’t think Draco had done bad things, because he knew he had, but the stakes were too high and Draco was too young, and the whole ordeal was, to put it quite plainly, an unfortunate series of events that even now Harry wasn’t sure Draco had any say in. It was unfair that Draco had to go around carrying the consequences of his parents actions. Harry made a mental note to come back to that one eventually.

Slowly, the possibility of Draco being ashamed of the scars caught up with Harry, and the sheer possibility of Draco being ashamed of a single inch of his perfect body was so deeply revolting that Harry felt the strongest urge to show him just how wrong he was. Without giving it too much thought, he pulled off his own shirt, exposing his own flash for Draco to see. 

-You’re not the only one with scars, you know? 

Carefully, Harry took Draco’s hand and placed it in his chest, right over the ring of burnt skin Salazar Slytherin’s locket left behind.

-I got this one during the war.

He didn’t really want to go into detail about the Horcruxes, and talking about the war right now felt wrong, so he kept going, placing Draco’s fingers above his right shoulder, on the jagged edge of his first Auror scar.

-This one I got along with my first case. Powerful hex, I must say. 

The one just underneath his left ribs.

-Quidditch with the Weasleys.

The thin line in his chin.

-Ice skating with Luna and Ginny

The one on top of his heart.

-Helping Hagrid to relocate one of his pets. 

And so on, Harry kept placing Draco’s hands over his own body, showing him every single scar, every single line that crossed his tan skin, and Draco complied in complete silence, biting his own lip, a concentrated look upon his face. 

By the time they were almost done, Harry had a playful smile on his lips, and guided Draco’s fingertips to their last destination, right in his forehead.

-Well, I think you might know how I got this one.

Draco let his fingers dance down the lightning scar. Following the tortuous line that ended close to Harry’s ear, right down the edge of the bumpy tissue. And then, Draco kept touching his face, Even though the tip of his fingers had long past the end of the sacar, Draco kept stroking his fingers along Harry’s jawline. The light touch of the tip of Draco’s finger slowly turned into his entire hand cuping Harry’s face, holding him. That slow movement trapped them in time, Harry prayed it could last forever. Draco’s hand was cold on Harry’s hot skin, and he couldn’t hold back the impulse of letting himself feel it. He closed his eyes, every muscle on his body slowly relaxing with a long exhale, allowing himself to lean into Draco’s touch. Finally, when he opened his eyes again, Draco tilted his body forwards, sitting up, their faces inches away from blissful contact. 

It wasn't as if they hadn't kissed many times before, but every single time Draco came close to him, without failing, Harry’s heart begged for more, for no distance at all. It raced as if it was the first time.

For a split second, Harry was sure there was a magnet inside his chest, demanding to connect to his opposite polo every time Draco walked in the room. He was tired of pretending it wasn't there. He was done. Ignoring the magnetic pull wasn't working. So, Harry leaned in and kissed Draco once more.

-Why are you smiling at the Ranshaw family file?

Harry’s trance was put out just like light after a  _ nox _ .

Everytime Harry got distracted from the files his mind wandered back to Draco, and his lips tingled from the many kisses they had shared just that morning. The ones on the bed, the one before breakfast, the one after, the one by the door when Harry was walking away. 

He quickly wiped away the grin, cursing himself for smiling. Ron was bent over his table, looking over his shoulder and stretching his neck to see what he was looking at. 

-Not smiling at the file.

Ron’s eyebrows shot up in his forehead right before his expression melted into a suggestive smirk that had Harry blushing heavily. 

-Malfoy then, huh?

Harry was saved by the bell when Martha stepped inside his office, face white as a sheet, hands shaking slightly. 

Ron immediately crossed the room, taking her by the hand and guiding her to the nearest seat.

-What happened, Martha? Are you ok? 

Harry stood up, conjuring a glass, filling it with a swift  _ aguamenti _ , and pushing it in her direction.

-They found another one. 

Her voice was nothing but a thin thread of shakiness. Harry’s heart sunk to his stomach and he could see Ron’s posture becoming more rigid, professional. __

-I’ll fetch my overcoat, meet you in five, Harry. 

Dean didn’t look excited. 

Instantly, Ron took a deep breath, letting out a low  _ “bloody hell”. _

Overly excited Dean was far less scary than “behaving like you’d expect someone to behave in a crime scene” Dean. 

Dean being strictly professional meant it was a particularly  _ bad  _ one.

Stepping into the bedroom felt almost nostalgic. One body in the bed, just like last time, grey looking skin, tongue spilling out from parted lips, a deep purple bruise around the neck. This was not the worst scene Harry had ever been in, not by far, and, maybe too soon, he let out a relieved sigh. He could feel Ron’s body relaxing a bit by his side.

-Victim number one, died by hanging, except there’s no rope and clearly no hanging.

Dean’s voice sounded cool and distant.

-Ok, so, the second body is once again in a different room? Just like last time. Suicide again?

Dean pursed his lips and frowned at Ron’s questions, eyes darting between him and Harry in a confused motion.

-No one told you? Alright, it’ll be best for me to just show it to you then, c'mon boys.

Dean led them straight into the tiny flat’s kitchen, a lovely room actually, all yellow and blue, and Harry couldn't quite understand what was the problem.

Until his eyes fell onto the dining table. And right there sat victim number two. 

Wide eyed and crying. 

Breathing. 

Alive.

As soon as they entered the interrogation room, almost two hours later, her hazel gaze snapped up, immediately meeting Harry’s eyes, and locking them into hers. Harry couldn't even blink. Noelle slowly shook her head, once, twice, before parting her lips and letting out a shuddered breath before whispering a low and pain-filled “ _ We just got engaged _ ”. Noelle Knight’s face was stained with tears, her hair a complete mess, nose smudged red with blood. The fluorescents made her complection look even duller, lifeless. Ron pulled a chair and sat down, nudging Harry’s side with his elbow to do the same. Harry obliged, still captured by the intense eye contact, not doing much to break it.

Ron cleared his throat, assuming his auror voice before speaking to her.

-We’re very sorry, Mrs. Knight, and we understand this might be a difficult moment, but we need you to fill us in a few gaps. 

Noelle’s eyes finally left Harry’s, a bit reluctantly, to meet Ron. Her expression was bewildered, the perfect picture of a broken heart, fresh tears filling her eyes as she spoke.

-We just… We just got engaged. She 's fine, right? She’s going to be fine, right?

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, stunned by the realization that no one had the kindness to tell this poor woman her fiancee was dead. He took a deep breath, bracing for what he was about to do.

-Mrs. Knight, I’m very sorry, but Reeva is gone.

Noelle searched his face, almost desperately, as if she was waiting for him to announce it was a joke. Harry stood very still and waited for the penny to drop. 

It took a little while, but Harry could clearly see the exact moment it downed on her. Noelle’s face fell, her eyes spilling over, her lips trembling. He had never seen someone break in half so silently. 

-Again, we’re very sorry, but we need to ask you a few questions.

Ron’s professional mask was in place, not a crack in sight, but Harry could clearly see the compassion deep in his eyes. 

-Oh  _ Merlin _ , you think  _ I _ did it.

Noelle’s voice cracked with the effort to keep in a sob. It wasn't a question.

-You think I _ killed _ my fiancee, don't you? 

Her tone grew louder by the second, and soon enough, Noelle was screaming between sobs, rising from her seat. Harry wordlessly cast an  _ incarcerous _ on instinct before she could even get up properly, making her recoil into her seat, and the screams turned into wailing and ugly crying.

-I didn’t kill her, I love her I love her I love her and she’s dead!

Ron looked stunned at the face of Noelle’s messy grief, but to Harry that wasn't new. He had gone through the exact same thing a million times before, so he didn't hesitate even for a second to spur into action, pacing across the dimmed lit room in two large steps, and lowering himself into a squat, meeting her eyes once again, taking the precaution to not touch her.

-I believe you. 

He looked back at Ron, who nodded, watching the exchange closely, wand in hand.

-We both do.

The brunette seemed to relax a little at that, her shoulders dropped an inch, her breathing became slower, and she closed her eyes, still sobbing.

-I thought they were just dreams. 

Harry’s vision swam at her words, and he could hear Ron’s sharp intake of breath from across the room.

-Nightmares, you know. After the war I… Just bad dreams.

-Bad omens.

The whisper left his lips without his consent, and Noelle opened her eyes once again to meet his.

-Bad omens.

She confirmed, eyebrows creased.

-How did it start, Mrs. Knight?

Ron’s voice cut through the tension, but Harry still couldn't move, the cogs in his brain working so fast he almost couldn’t keep up. He was slightly aware of the conversation happening in the background, but his heart beat was louder than any of the words.

-...they began to get worse, more real, and every morning I would wake up with a bleeding nose, and she would wake up hurt in one way or another. We went to St. Mungos, but no one could tell us what was wrong, nothing seemed out of place, so we just…

Noelle’s voice broke with a new sob. Ron was furiously scribbling into a piece of parchment, eyes going back and forth between Harry and Mrs. Knight, a knowing expression in his face, almost as if he knew something Harry didn't.

-We decided to ignore it for a bit, wait for it to go away. And then, this morning I… 

Slowly, he got up, going back to seat down at Ron’s side, hand sweaty and eyes unfocused.

-This one was different, somehow. We were talking through it. When they hung us, I… I think I died too. And when I woke up, and there she was. Her body was limp and that awful bruise and…

Mrs. Knight shut her eyes, lowering her head and promptly throwing up straight into the Ministry’s marble floor.

Ron got up to help, but Harry stood unmoving, filling in the blanks inside his mind. 

Every single loose connection snapped into place, and suddenly, Harry came to the enlightening realization that he was dying.

That was _ fine _ . It was fine. He was dying, that wasn't new. He could handle that. Dying was pretty much his comfort zone at this point. He was  _ fine _ . 

Except.

_ Draco. _

Harry was dying, but Draco was dying  _ with him _ . 


End file.
